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THE 



POEMS 



OF 



WILLIAM B. TAPPAN, 



NOT CONTAINED IN A FORMER VOLUME. 




PHILADELPHIA: 

henry perkins chestnut street. 

boston; 
perkins and marvin. 

1836. 






Tt 



\« 



Entered according- to Act of Congress, in the yeai* 
1836, by Henry Perkins, in the Clerk's Office of 
the District Court of the Eastern District of Penn- 
sylvania. 



/. Ashmead & Co. Frinters. 



PUBLISHER'S NOTICE. 



The Publisher of " The Poems of Wil- 
liam B. Tappan" (in 1834,) offers the Pub- 
lic this companion to that volume; em- 
bracing most of his additional pieces. 

The admirers of two well known Hving 
Poets of another country, will be gratified 
by the appropriate introduction here, of 
extracts from their correspondence with 
the author, which the Publisher has solicit- 
ed for insertion. 



VI 



From James Montgomery, Esq. Sheffield, (Eng.) 

" There is a pleasure, which from its very 
nature must be confined to a few^ privileged 
individuals, and that is, to receive tokens of 
kindness from a stranger in a far country, 
who knows the person whom he thus visits 
in spirit, as a spirit only; with whose mind 
and heart he has become acquainted as 
they may have been shown to the world 
in his writings, or have attracted the 
esteem of his fellow creatures by a repu- 
tation, (whether deserved or not, is not the 
question in this case) for some great or 
good deed, such as the good and the great 
themselves love to honour. To the former 
class, — those whose minds have been seen 
by others to whom their bodies are invi- 
sible, — 1 happen to belong, and therefore, 
within the last thirty years especially, have 
often been saluted from every quarter of 
the four winds as they blow over the Bri- 
tish Islands, and not seldom also as they 



Vll 

sweep eastward athwart the Atlantic, by- 
benevolent and Christian individuals, to 
whom my songs of sorrow, or of joy, of 
freedom, or of faith, and hope and love, 
have been endeared under circumstances 
which caused those peculiar sympathies 
to be awakened in their bosoms, of which 
the prototypes existed in my own, when I 
found words to give them utterance, and 
power of truth and nature enough to ensure 
them an entrance and a welcome wherever 
kindred souls came in contact with my 
compositions. You have very agreeably 
added one to the number of those who 
constitute my world of contemporary spi- 
rits, yet in the flesh, but to me known only 
as intelligences with whom I can hold 
communion of thought, and interchange 
of feeUng, without the probabihty, or the 
necessity, of personal knowledge in this 
world, though with a hope, not irrational, 
nor unfounded, that amidst the ages of 
eternity and among the infinity of joys 



Vlll 



prepared by the Redeemer for those that 
love Him, we shall see and know as we 
are known, and have to congratulate each 
other on "glory, honour and immortality," 
the portion of the blest in the kingdom of 
heaven, brighter, nobler and more excel- 
lent than ever was sought, or won, or en- 
tered into the imagination to conceive, by 
those who gained most of the world, and 
the good the world has to give, yet found 
it all too little for their wants. 

" I congratulate you on having devoted, 
not the first fruits only, but I may say the 
successive harvests of your Parnassus, 
not to the fabled Deity and the ideal God- 
desses that were said of old to rule there, 
but to the true God, and to His glory, in 
the service of His temple and His people 
on earth. May you have a present and 
future reward here, and an eternal one 
hereafter." 



IX 



From James Edmeston, Esq. London. 

" It is a pleasant thought, that the 
English Language in both hemispheres 
is more honoured than any other, in 
extending the knowledge and showing 
forth the glory of God ; and in this coun- 
try it is a pleasing sign of the times, that 
sacred poetry should be so much prized in 
those gay and noble circles, which once 
could tolerate only a very different kind 
of literature. — It is a great point to get a 
hearing for Religion, and when once it 
catches the ear and is listened to, it speaks 
so truly to the heart, that man will gene- 
rally receive it as the consolation and 
hope which of all things he most re- 
quires. It is the object of Satan to pre- 
vent this acceptance, to keep men out of 
the way of hearing or of reading ; but I 
always find that the music of sacred poe- 
try is a powerful attraction to a cultivated 
mind, and hence the table of the drawing 



room may now often be observed adorned 
with volumes of sacred poetry, in houses 
where formerly no such thing was to be 
found. It is to me a very proud thought 
that any thing which I have written has 
found its way to America." 



CONTENTS. 



The Boatmen of the West, - - Page 17 

For Spain, 20 

The Infant Orphan, 22 

War not with France, .... 24 

Sympathy, 25 

Revival, 26 

What; is it cheers the aching breast, - - 27 

Dedication, 28 

To my Father's old Bible, - - - 30 

Thy Kingdom Come, - - - - 33 

The Hero's Grave, 35 

The Bar Maid, 36 

Millennial Morn, thy rosy beams, - - 38 

Genesis, v. 24, 39 

By whom of all thy chosen. Lord, - - 40 

The Smile in Death, 41 

O God, this Universal Frame, ... 42 

Winter, 43 

When the shadows of death shall envelop this clay, 44 

Children's Christmas Verses, - - . 45 

Men that go down in Ships, ... 45 

December, 47 

For the Deaf and Dumb, - ... 48 

Retrospective, 49 

Worship, .-..._. 51 

Bunyan's Chair, 52 



Xll CONTENTS. 

Is it well with the Child, - - - Page 56 

New York, during- the Pestilence of 1822, - 57 

Slavery, 58 

Song- of Deborah and Barak, - - - 59 

Oh Mary, take this brilliant gem, - - 60 

Are not my days few, .... 60 

His path is the ocean, he maketh his dwelling, 62 

The two Pillars, 64 

Leave thy Fatherless Childi-en, - - 66 
Vespers, .---.--67 

The Deserter, 68 

The Colombian Flag, - ... 69 

Who may enter Heaven, - - - - 70 

The Court of Death, . - - - 71 

The Dying Year, 72 

The Mother's Prayer, - - - - 74 

Fair is the scene when the mists of the morning, 75 

To whom shall we go but to Thee, - - 76 

A Colloquy of Bethlehem, - - . 78 

When yon bright orb beneath the west, - 79 

May, 1835, 80 

Song of the Bible, 82 

The Leveller, 86 

To the Missouri, 88 

Do. do. 89 

Song of Jacob to Rachel, - - - - 91 

She may not die, 92 

O, who would love a world like this, - 93 

Lake Erie, Sept. 10, 1813, - - . 94 

Solitude, 95 

To the Sun, 97 

The Connecticut, - .... 99 



CONTENTS. XIU 

The Withered Leaf, ... - Pa^e 100 

Mrs. S. D. R. 102 

Children of the Preceding, - - - 103 

Miss Amelia C , 105 

William, Howard and Eugene, ... 105 

I sleep, but my heart waketh, ... 106 

New England Sketches, ... - 107 

Changes, ------- 113 

The Church, 115 

The Grave, 118 

To thee, dear Vision, Genius of the l}Te, - 119 

What shall satisfy the mind, - - - 121 

The Tomb of Jesus, 122 

Religion and Rum, ----- 124 

A time to weep, a time to rejoice, - - 125 

The Departed Wife, 127 

The Old Soldier, 129 

The Eucharist, 130 

The Unhallowed Grave, - - - - 132 

The Pirate Ship, 134 

Thou sleepest, gentle Boy, - - - 136 

Days departed, whither fled, - - . 137 

Frances, 140 

Saved by our instrumentality, - . - 141 

The Bible Ship, 143 

The Bell of the Revolution, - - - 145 

To a Nun, 147 

The Last Drunkard, 149 

Miriam's Song, 151 

The Crown of Thorns, - - - - 152 

The Church is there, - - - - 154 

Rev. A J , 156 



XIV CONTENTS. 

To the Missionarj^ Students at Andover, Page 157 

God of Judgment, round thy throne, - - 160 

The Men of Plymouth, .... 161 

Last Words of Clirist, . - . . 163 

Exhibition of the Deaf and Dumb, - - 164 

The Father to his guilty Son, - - - 165 

Twenty-second of February, . . - 167 

Song of the 500,000 Drunkards in the U. States, 168 

None saved by my care, ... - 170 

Apostrophe, 171 

To the Descendant of the Pilgrim Fathers, 174 

For my Child's Testament, - - - 175 

A recent loss, 176 

The Minstrels of Judah have gone to their rest, 177 

Chains for the neck of Beauty, ... 178 

The Bible Society, 180 

Song for Thomas Paine's Birthday, . - 181 

The Tender Shepherd, - - - - 185 

The Young Convert, - - - - 186 

The Duellist's Honour, - - . - 188 

Winter Woes, 189 

The Eagle on his mountain height, - - 191 

A Mother, 192 

Holiness to the Lord, .... 194 

To the Comet, 196 

Winter rules the closing year, ... 198 

South American Hymn, - - - - 199 

The foundering barque by tempests tost, . 201 

The Vision, 202 

To the Chinese Lady, .... 203 

To a half-blown Lily, . . - - 205 

Books for China, 206 



CONTENTS. XV 

Gaze thou upon a fallen world, - - Page 206 

The Petition, 209 

The Lord shall g-ather Jerusalem, - - 210 

The Flag- of the Cross, - - - - 211 

The Walk from Buffalo, - - - - 213 

Fall on us and hide us, .... 227 

Mortimer Brockway and Henry Bond, - 228 

Tahiti, 229 

New Year's Colloquy, .... 231 

Judg-ment Separation, . . - . 233 

Shall he unbar the g-ates of death, - - 234 

Triumphate, - 235 

I marked the calm moment, ... 237 

Vision of the Hebrew, .... 238 

In Judah now, the minstrel's lyre, - . 239 

Amanda, 240 

The Flower, 241 

The Sunday-school Teacher, - . - 242 

Heathen Converts in Christendom, - - 244 

The Cherokee Worshipper, ... 246 

Thomas S, Grimke, 248 

The Pious Rum-seUer's Soliloquy, - - 250 

Who cares for Jack, 254 

Job, XXV. 256 

Ship of the Dead, 257 

The soul released from feeble clay, - - 259 

We are too cold for those whose love, - 260 

The Final Hour, 261 

Mechanics' Temperance Song-, - - - 262 

The Temperance Strike, .... 264 

Babylon, 265 

Gently as flows Time's noiseless stream, - 267 



XVI CONTENTS. 

The Tent, Page 268 

Go, dream of by-past hours, . . - 270 

Union prevails in Heaven, . . - 271 

The Rose that decks the laughing dale, - 272 

Rev. Drs. Reed and Matheson, - - - 273 

To the Holy Alliance, .... 275 

Thou sayest the world refuses its smile, - 277 

And do ye still reject the race, - - - 278 

The Missionaries' departure for India, - 279 

The Charles Wharton, - - - - 281 

To New York, in 1832, - - - - 283 

From all that can Intoxicate, . . - 285 

Death's Changes, 290 

O, oft have I wept, 293 

The Tract left at my house, - - - 294 

The Firemen's Hymn, . . - - 295 

Alcoholic Wine at the Lord's Supper, - 296 

Religion, 298 

The Baptized, 299 

To a Missionary, 302 

O, what is life but some dark dream, - 304 

New Year Thoughts, - - - - 305 

Washington's Freedmen, - - - . 308 

Sunday-schools in the West, - - - 312 

Books in Heaven, 315 

Suicide of a Statesman, - . . . 316 

Verses on an occurrence of the 19th Century, 318 

Saratoga, 320 

Acts, iii. 321 

My Grave, 322 



THE BOATMEN OF THE WEST. 

Boatman ! upon the stormy lake, 

Or on the river's dancing crest, 
Whose cheerful song- and whistle wake 

The echoes of the W^est — 
Suspend thy toil and list to me, 
I have a kindly word for thee. 

Though far removed, perhaps, art thou 
From those that watched thy early day, 

And from thy native mountains now 
A wanderer away, 

From vales that saw thy childhood's dawn, 

From the sweet home where thou wast born : 

Thoug-h broader lands have lured thy feet. 
And richer pastures have thee won, 

And mightier streams than ever greet 
New England's hardy son — 

Yet should'st thou here thy God forget? 

Sojourner, dost thou serve him yet? 
B 



18 THE BOATMEN OF THE WEST. 

And thou ! upon thy native lakes, 
Ohio's free and fearless child, — 

Whose footstep, distant floods and brakes 
From home have never wiled — 

Suspend thy labour, list to me, 

I have a word of peace for thee. 

I've heard of vigorous men that ply 
The oar, and those that urge the steam ; 

Whose toiling barques, adventurous, fly 
O'er western lake and stream, — 

Who mock at sense of sin and shame, 

And flout and scorn their Maker's name. 

Methinks as they their vessels guide 
Along those deeps of lovely blue. 

That wind 'mid hills and prairies wide, 
And landscapes ever new — 

They'd pause, and think, and time their mirth 

With thanks for such a glorious birth. 

Methinks, that at the noble hymn 
Sent up from every dell and wood 

That line his path, when stars grow dim, 
Charming the solitude — 

The notes of man's superior song 

Would swell those of the woodland throng. 



THE BOATMEN OF THE WEST. 19 

And where a God has beauty sown 
With gracious and unsparing hand, 

And in unwonted bounty thrown 
His fatness o'er the land — 

That men with corresponding care 

Would render back the meed of prayer. 

Yea, that they would bethink them too 
Of love that woke when they did sleep : 

A mother's love — so holy, true. 
So early, quiet, deep — 

And with that tender thought, abjure 

The sin her heart might not endure. 

Bethink, too, of the aged sire, 

Whose step is frail, whose hair is gray ; 
Who often at the evening fire, 

At table and at play — 
Dropped kind instruction for their youth. 
And gently won their way to truth. 

Oh, not these thoughts, nor charms that lie. 

Exuberant, on every side. 
Will lift pure glances to the sky, 

Or humble human pride — 
Unless the grace that can renew, 
Shall enter, and that pride subdue. 



20 FOR SPAIN. 

Boatman on river and on lake ! 

Rejoice — such toil's for thee begun; 
Men of the cross their journey take 

Toward the setting sun — 
Their hymn those inland seas shall cheer, 
Of righteousness the floods shall hear. 

For Nature, at the Maker's call 

Poured freely forth those matchless streams, 
And scooped those vales, and decked them all 

Beyond a poet's dreams — 
That they might fitting temples be 
Of worship for the truly free. 



FOR SPAIN ! 

Up, for the captive Spain ! 

The realm of chivalry — 
That long unto imperious Rome 

Has bowed the abject knee. 
Let mighty prayer go forth 

That loosed shall be her chain; 
And glad in Jesus Christ may be 

The broad bright lands of Spain. 



FOR SPAIN. 21 

Up, for the soil of song ! 

The clime of many lays — 
Whose melody to Sin's been given, 

Seldom to Heaven's praise. 
Send supplication forth, 

That presently be strung 
To praises evangelical. 

The noble Spanish tongue. 

Up, for the treasure-land ! 

Whose ingots are her loss, 
If, in their golden bravery, 

Forgotten be the Cross. 
Oh, show her that her gems 

Are pale, her mines are mean. 
Scanned in the faithful telescope 

Through which the Saviour's s,een. 

Up, for her generous youth ! 

Up, for her beauteous dames ! 
Sated with time, that they may learn 

Eternity has claims; — 
Learn that its joys untold. 

And garniture unpriced. 
Are laid up for God's daughters, and 

The cavaliers of Christ. 



22 THE INFANT ORPHAN. 

Up, for ye owe a debt ! 

She rent the veil away 
From Centuries, and proudly brought 

Your continent to day : — 
Strive, ye new men, that Christ's 

Banner may be unfurled 
O'er her, that long for Him has lain 

An undisco veered world. 



Up ! for her nobles lie 

In superstition bound ; 
Her serfs to ignorance are sold, 

Her princes are uncrowned ; — 
Proclaim a Jubilee ! 

That mind may be restored ; 
And peasant and hidalgo be 

Men, taught to know the Lord. 



THE INFANT ORPHAN. 

Lately, I wandered sadly, where 

None watched my way or saw my lot : 

Yet God beheld me, and his care 
Shielded the child that knew him not. 



THE INFANT ORPHAN. 23 

The kind Redeemer's gentle name 

Upon my lips was never found ; 
He spared me — yes, the very same 

That wheels those golden worlds around. 

I sometimes thought there was a Power 
Made the tall trees and flowers to grow, 

Bade sunshine warm and tempests lower, 
And who but God could thunder so 1 

But now I know the Bible tells 
Of Him that rolls the stars along ; 

And in the cloud's pavilion dwells, 
Yet condescends to hear my song. 

I know of Jesus, too, whose love 
For children, young and frail as me. 

Brought Him, the Lord of all above, 
Down to the manger and the tree. 

And well I know that babes distressed, 

And weary, find in him a home ; 
For he will take such to his rest, 

And say, " Forbid them not to come." 



24 WAR NOT WITH FRANCE. 



WAR NOT WITH FRANCE ! 

And to the traitor who avers 

That coward terror prompts the word, 
M)'- country ! show thy sepulchres, 

And show thy victory-hilted sword, — 
And teach him, should upon thy name 

Old Europe breathe dishonour, out 
A million such, unsheathed, would flame ; 

And millions thee would wall about ! 

War not with France ! 
No — though she hath withheld thy gold ; 

With generous blood who dares weigh dross 1 
Who deems a nation's honour sold, 

Though countless ingots be her loss *? 
Can all the guerdon thou may'st gain 

Be recompense for crime's increase ? 
Can crimson, spilt, wash out the stain 

Of vice, entailed on years of peace ] 

War not with France ! 
No, not for Fame ; — there's many a home 

Earth's holiest blessing now makes glad ; 
Bid Battle's foot come nigh the dome, 
And all is there to make life sad. 



SYMPATHY. 25 

For will the sheen of conquest dry 
The widow's tear it caused to flow ? 

From orphaned bosoms the low sigh, 
Will tones of triumph banish 1 — No ! 

War not with France ! 
Remembering-, in thy darkest hour, 

When thou wast poor, her fleets, her men. 
With thine made weak the Briton's power, 

With Freedom France was kindred then ! 
War not with him, the wavering Gaul : — 

The present for the past forget ; 
And who shall deem the motive small, 

That spares the land of Lafayette ] 
1835. 



SYMPATHY. 

Is it to spurn at sorrow's child, 

When bitter woes assail ; 
While pressed by want, in accents mild. 

It sobs its artless tale 1 

Is it to mock at heart-felt grief, 
That shrinks beneath the storm ; 

With chilling frown withhold relief, 
And say " be full — be warm ]" 



26 



Oh no ! the sympathetic voice 
Ne'er bade the poor depart ; 

It bids the weeping soul rejoice,- 
It cheers the broken heart. 



REVIVAL. 

In our secret souls we know it, 
Griefs confess and joy doth show it, 
Lowly sig-h and quiet tear 
Tell, the Holy Ghost is here ! 

Simeon's song from old men, now, 
Lisping praise from children, now, 
Young men bowed, the influence feeling, 
Maidens, in their meekness, kneeling — 

Faltering hymn, and broken prayer, 
Moanings of the heart's despair, 
Peace, revealed, of pardoned sin. 
Tell, the Spirit is within ! 

God, the Maker, Christ the Giver — 
Holy Ghost, who'll laud for ever ? 
He, the vilest, nearest lost. 
Saved — will love the Godhead most. 



WHAT IS IT CHEERS THE ACHING BREAST. 27 



WHAT IS IT CHEERS THE ACHING 
BREAST? 

What is it cheers the aching breast? 

What bids corroding- sorrows flee ? 
What sooths the heart with accents blessed 1 

'Tis hope of Immortality. 

When tired of life, though life's a span, 
It's painful disappointing round, — 

If asked of bliss, experienced man 
Replies, with Earth it is not found. 

For troubles on its evening lower, 
And shadows dim its cheerful morn; 

And he that plucks its straggling flower, 
Is wounded by the secret thorn. 

The fairy dreams that sense beguile. 
Like dreams, how soon they disappear! 

And who can boast, when e'en Love's smile 
Is but the prelude to a tear? 

What panacea blest shall cure 
The soul-disease, satiety? 



28 DEDICATION. 

What, but the prospect bright and sure, 
Of pleasing Immortality ? 

Life is a desert, but afar 

The pillar burns with steady ray ; 
And Hope of Future is the star 

That guides the wanderer on the way. 

Here, then, I'll hold, and doubt disclaim, 
And while despondency shall flee, 

I'll gratefully adore thy name, 
My God ! for Immortality. 



DEDICATION. 

Heart and hymn, thy sons and daughters 

Give thee now. Incarnate Word ! 
Voices, as of many waters, 

Answer, " Holy, Holy, Lord !" 
From thy sanctuary bending. 

Of whose bliss the Sun thou art, — 
Listen to the song ascending. 

Look upon the humble heart. 

What, though to thy Name, a dwelling 
Mortals build, whence prayer shall rise — 



DEDICATION. 29 

Temples, all their art excelling-, 

Are thy earth and painted skies : 
Crowns and harps are thine for ever, 

Lord of Uncreated Day ! 
Yet from our low praises, never 

Wilt thou turn thine ear away. 

Swelling domes, unto thy glory 

Reared, we scarcely deem begun, 
Till upon each stone, the story 

Is inscribed, of trophies won. 
Here, oh Dove! thyself revealing, 

Let the tear be shed for sin ; 
O'er us spread thy wing of healing", 

Be its shadow felt within. 

Name ! in which we raise our banner, 

Lay the stone and build the wall ; 
Name ! that wakes the glad hosanna. 

Name ! by which this house we call : 
Opened are the doors of heaven. 

Lifted are the gates of God — 
Enter! — souls to Thee are given. 

Thou that hast the wine-press trod. 



30 TO MY father's OLD BIBLE. 



TO MY FATHER'S OLD BIBLE. 

It is the book of God. What if I should 
Say, God of books ? 

The Synagogue. 

Faded and worn, oh, holy Book ! 

To me much charm hast thou ; 
For sadly cometh on my gaze 

Long- buried pleasure, now ! 
And, as I ope thy blessed leaves, 

My Father seemeth near ; 
I hearken to his voice, and see 

The hand that once was here. 

I note the precept that he marked ; 

With reverence scan the line ; 
The texts on which his eye hath paused, 

Arrest, not seldom, mine. 
I heed again the counsel kind, 

Which, to enforce with care, 
He taught me to repeat, as I 

Leaned o'er his elbow chair. 

The years come back, when, frolic done. 
At twilight's sober hour. 



TO MY father's OLD BIBLE. 31 

I duly joined the household hymn, 

And prayer for shielding- Power. 
Can I forget the tones of peace 

That blent with pious awe, 
When read my sire of gospel love. 

Or of the holy law ] 

Can I forget the clustering- pearls 

He gathered then from thee — 
The which the world is poor to buy. 

Yet to the world are free 1 
Oh, as he read that earthly joys 

Would like a dream depart. 
His prayer was that thy blessings I 

Might wear upon my heart. 

'Tis well to call up vanished hours. 

If only for a while — 
That thus on early boyhood cast 

Their fresh and fleeting smile ; 
And yet, thou hope-inspiring Book ! 

The solace that forbids 
Repining o'er departed joys. 

Is found within thy lids. 

Thou mindest me that Time hath rolled 

Waves, many, since the day 
When in his cerements robed, my sire 

Was borne the churchyard way : 



32 TO MY father's old bible. 

Thou mindest me, the hour of prime, 
So bright and brief, is gone ; 

And these are shadows of the eve 
That now are stealing on. 

Yet unto me, oh, blessed Book! 

Thou hast a living charm ; 
The promise is unsealed, that still 

Doth years of ill disarm. 
The kindly Gilead bearest thou, 

That heals the hurt Avithin ; 
The fountain, ever full, hast thou, 

So potent for my sin. 

Even seeking, here, the quiet thoughts 

Of him who sought to find. 
Like angel-whispers, gently breathe 

Complacence to my mind; 
Then hold I converse with the dead, 

And taste of hidden bliss ; 
The spirit of a better world 

Allures my flight from this. 

I trace his pilgrimage of pain, 
The same my feet have known ; 

Compare with his the secret sigh, 
And count with his the groan; 

And pray that like his upward way, 
May mine be gladly trod ; 



THY KINGDOM COME. 33 

To drop the last besetting sin, 
And rest with him in God. 

Thus, holy Book ! to me thy page 

Is redolent of peace. 
Which, not of earth, while that decays. 

Will brighten and increase. 
Beyond the treasures of the sea, 

Or ingots of the mine. 
And fairer than the world's delights, 

The excellence that's thine. 



THY KINGDOM COME! 

Whate'er invites us to the throne, 
Or brings the contrite. Lord ! to thee, 
In social worship or alone. 
Still shall the supplication be 
Thy Kingdom come ! 

By thy pure gospel, duly spread 
Where India hears the Shepherd's voice. 
Where Afric rises from the dead. 
And islands of the sea rejoice — 
Thy Kingdom come ! 
c 



34 THY KINGDOM COME. 

By schools of grace, where heathen youth, 
Gathered from crime, of Jesus hear ; 
Where stubbornness, subdued by truth, 
Bestows the penitential tear — 
Thy Kingdom come ! 

By Tracts, tv^ith inspiration fraught, 
Blessed messengers to him afar. 
Who, 'nighted and forlorn, is brought 
To welcome Judah's rising star — 
Thy Kingdom come ! 

By Bibles, sent to distant lands, 
Thy own imperishable word, — 
Uniting earth in kindred bands, 
Spreading the empire of our God — 
Thy Kingdom come ! 

By all the prayers thy saints below 
Have rendered — this dark world incline 
To thee, submissively, to bow : 
Oh, come ! and be the victory thine — 
Thy Kingdom come ! 

By all the love thou did'st proclaim 
For Him on whom the curse was laid ; 
Who meekly bore our sin and shame. 
The Crucified — thy wrath who stayed — 
Thy Kingdom come ! 



THE hero's grave. 35 



THE HERO'S GRAVE. 

Why weeps the Muse her glory fled 1 

Why droops Columbia's Genius so ? 
The laurel wreath is sear and dead ; 

The gallant Hero's form is low ! 
Ye hoary warriors ! hither bring 

Your tribute to the kindred brave ; 
Ye beauteous maidens! haste and fling 

Your chaplets o'er the Hero's grave. 

Let those depart, who tear away 

The wreath that marks a godlike soul ; 
Let those depart, who chide the lay, 

And for his faults would blot the scroll 
Approach, ye generous, feeling few, 

Where selfishness can ne'er intrude ; 
Approach — the Hero's grave bedew; 

Sweet are the tears of gratitude ! 

The Hero mingles with the dust, 

But Glory shrines his deathless fame; 

The tomb receives its hallowed trust. 
But unborn ages breathe his name ! 



36 THE BAR MAID. 

Yes, mighty dead ! in every breast, 
Thou still shalt live, to memory dear ; 

This turf by virgin footsteps prest, 
Shall witness Sorrow's dewy tear ! 

Hither shall Sympathy repair. 

To deck her favourite's early tomb ; 
While Charity, with aspect fair, 

Will mantle thy untimely doom. 
Farewell ! the gem that hailed thy morn, 

Now sunk beneath the western sky, 
Will wake for thee a brighter dawn — 

The Star of Glory ne'er can die ! 



THE BAR MAID. 

I SAW a lovely girl — it was at church — 
Who knelt before her Maker in the beauty 
Of maiden meekness. As she lifted up 
Her calm blue eyes in confidence to heaven. 
And her sweet lips were parted in low prayer, 
I thought that never had been seen on earth 
Such likeness unto angels. Presently 
She approached the supper of the Crucified, 
With diffidence and in humility of step ; 



THE BAR MAID. 37 

Revealing- lowliness of heart. And there, 
As she partook the symbols of His death, 
With trembling, touched the blest memorials — 
Her dark lids swam with tears of penitence, 
And holy hope, and joy that passeth words. 
Woman, I said, though ever beautiful. 
And every where attractive, unto me 
Thou art truly lovely when Devotion lends 
Its halo to thy charms. 

Again I saw her — 'twas the same — she stood 
Beneath her father's roof. 
It was a room unseemly to the sight — 
Ranged round were cups and flasks, on which was 

seen 
The name of Alcohol. The place was filled 
With vulgar men. The thoughtless youth was 

there. 
Just learning his sad lesson. Aged heads 
Clustering and ripening for the grave were there : 
And there the filthy debauchee. Strange oaths 
And laughter rude I heard. — The jest obscene 
Went round : and some were reeling in their drink. 
And she — yes, sAe, that beauteous one, that sweet 
Young blossom, stood amid that tainted crew. 
As 'twere a pure, bright spirit, suddenly 
Brought in its skiey freshness to the damned. 
She stood behind the bar ; her lily hand 



38 MILLENNIAL MORN, THY ROSY BEAMS. 

Poured out the nauseous draught, and mixed and 

reached 
The poison to those outcasts. With vile leer, 
That withered up, methought, her virgin charms. 
Those bad men gazed on her, and laughed and 

drank. 
And still they drank, and still she filled the cup 
And gave it them, and heard their brutal talk, 
And songs of hell. 

Her sire is counted one 
Of the pillars of the church. He duly prays, 
Gives alms, and deems himself a journeyer 
To heaven. And he his daughter places there 
A daily oblation, acceptable 
Unto the Moloch Rum : and unrebuked. 
For money offers up his innocent child; 
And she, obedient, thus is sacrificed. 



MILLENNIAL MORN, THY ROSY BEAMS. 

Millennial morn ! thy rosy beams 
Already break and shine on high ; 

And from his couch the day-spring seems 
To rush and glance along the sky. 



GENESIS, V. 24. 39 

Error its mantling cloud rolls back, 
And fast and far fly shades of night ; 

The wheels are heard whose living track 
Is marked by resurrection's light. 

'Tis glorious thus, our conquering God ! 

To greet the chariot of thy Son ; 
Oh, who that hath his war-plain trod, 

Would ever toils so noble shun ] 

Gird on thy sword, most Mighty ! sway 
The sceptre of unquestioned rule ; 

And marshal on thy glorious way 
The Bible, Tract, and Sunday-school. 

Not only age, but youth, the call 

Shall hear, and hasten where unfurled 

Thy banners wave on Zion's wall. 
Symbols of freedom to a world. 



GENESIS, v. 24. 

He was not, for God took him. — On the mighty 

wing 
Of the obedient whirlwind, forth the prophet rode 
'Mid wilds of ether where no foot e'er trode ; 
Where unknown worlds and suns, revolving, sing. 



40 BY WHOM OF ALL THY CHOSEN, LORD. 

Favoured of the Most High ! twas thine alone, 
Unracked by pangs known to mortality — 
In robes of clay to wander near the throne, 
In flesh to enter thine eternity. 
Thou walked'st with the Godhead, boon divine, 
Unknown to angels. Christian worshipper! 
When nations round thee sought another shrine, 
The God of promise claimed thy homage. Ne'er 
Could the impious shake thy faith; thy heaven 
Began on earth. Though tabernacled here, 
Communion high, and vast, to thee was given. 
And mystic invitation to thy sphere. 



BY WHOM OF ALL THY CHOSEN, LORD. 

By whom of all thy chosen. Lord, 
Wilt thou the promised temple build ? 

Shall angel legions seize the sword. 
Nor sheath it till the toil's fulfilled ? 

Earth's monarchs — in thy cause shall they 

With banners rally to the strife 1 
And win with worldly arms the day. 

And take with spear the crown of life ? 



Oh, not by the embattled throng. 
Who travel on in fields of light. 



THE SMILE IN DEATH. 41 

Nor by Earth's monarchs, marshalled strong, 
And burning for the glorious fight — 

But such as we, and feebler far, 
Shall in thy Name subdue the foe ; 

And weapons simple as these are. 
Be strong in Thee to lay him low. 

As faithful warriors of the cross, 
We ne'er can faint nor falter, since 

We c'ount all conquest else, but loss, 
And love beyond all else, our Prince. 



THE SMILE IN DEATH. 

When the last stern and trophied foe, 

The hoary monarch of the tomb. 
The spirit freed from toils below. 

And bore it through the valley's gloom : 

I saw upon the marble brow 

The peaceful calm 'twas wont to wear ; 
Though damps had gathered o'er it now. 

Though Death had stamped his image there. 



42 GOD, THIS UNIVERSAL FRAME. 



O GOD, THIS UNIVERSAL FRAME. 

O God ! this universal frame 
Reveals the splendour of thy Name ; 
And on the heavens that thou hast spanned, 
Its characters in beauty stand. 

Of thee, redeemed ones sweetly sing, 
Where errand-angels plume their wing ; 
That mellow music bursts and dies 
Ever along those upper skies. 

Yet nobler than this matchless frame, 

Or heaven of heavens where dwells thy Name, 

Is He who once this footstool trod, 

A Sufferer — risen Son of God ! 

And richer is his word of love, 
Than notes that shake the throne above, — 
When he invites his children home. 
Saying, " Forbid them not to come." 



43 



WINTER. 

Arrayed in gloom, stern Winter reigns 
With aspect chill and drear ; 

The streams are locked in icy chains, 
The tempest howls severe. 

No more is heard the songster's lay, 
That echoed through the grove ; 

The robin shuns the leafless spray. 
And chants no more of love. 

Yon orb emits a feeble gleam. 
That lingers cold and lone ; 

Its evanescent fitful beam 
Proclaims that joy has flown. 

Emblem of life, all nature wears 

A robe of cheerless hue ; 
The storms assail, like gloomy cares, 

As sad, as frequent too. 

But soon these clouds shall disappear. 
The fields with verdure smile ; 



44 WHEN THE SHADOWS OF DEATH. 

The bubbling brook meander clear, 
The robin's note beguile. 

The vernal showers shall dew the earth, 

While genial suns illume; 
The beauteous flowerets spring to birth, 

And golden harvests bloom. 

Thus, like the rays of Winter's morn, 
That cheerless prospects bring, — 

These gloomy cares precede the dawn 
Of an unfading Spring. 



WHEN THE SHADOWS OF DEATH 
SHALL ENVELOP THIS CLAY. 

When the shadows of death shall envelop this clay, 
And the damps of the grave dew this brow ; 

When the smile blooms no longer, and far, far away. 
Flies the spirit that lightens it now, — 

I ask not the trophies of grandeur to shrine 
The dust, that with dust fain would blend ; 

I ask not for lays — be the monument mine. 
The remembrance, the tears of a Friend. 



CHILDREN S CHRISTMAS VERSES. 45 



CHILDREN'S CHRISTMAS VERSES. 

Earth has her shout of welcome, when 
To fleeting- thrones an heir is born, — 

But to the Hope of fallen men 

She gave her curse, or silent scorn. 

'Tis true, His coming heralded 
Celestial minstrels on that night. 

When one sweet star the shepherds led 
To Him, the Star of Morning light. 

Yet grief was his, e'en from the hour 
That he, a babe, to Egypt fled, 

Down to the time when hell had power 
O'er Life's immortal Monarch, dead. 

Praise for it all ! — for by his pain, 
We sinners may this day rejoice; 

The second death to him is slain. 
Who hears the Resurrection's voice. 

Praise for it all ! — through Him that died, 
We, ransomed, joyfully may sing. 

Where none forbid the palm, or chide 
The lisped hosannas to the King. 



46 MEN THAT GO DOWN IN SHIPS. 

What shall we render for the love 

Thus brought to children young as we ? 

We give — look, Saviour, from above — 
Ourselves, eternally to Thee ! 



MEN THAT GO DOWN IN SHIPS. 

Men that go down in ships. 

Tempting the fickle sea, 
Too long have opened rebel lips. 

Lord of the deep ! to thee. 

When lightnings bowed their mast, 
And storms heaped up the wave. 

They reckoned not whose arm was cast 
Around them there to save. 

Nor when, with tempered breeze, 

And glad and gay sunshine. 
Their stately ship walked through the seas,- 

That breeze and sun were thine. 

" The winds are in God's fists," 

So, too, the troubled heart; 
And when the Holy Spirit lists 

He bids its storms depart — 



DECEMBER. 47 

And makes the Sailor know 

The peace that's felt within ; 
That's seen when tears of pleasure flow 

At thought of pardoned sin. 

Praise ! that thy presence, Lord, 

The ocean-tost has known ; 
And where go gallant ships abroad. 

Go hearts that seek the throne. 



DECEMBER. 

Farewell, December ! cheerless as thou art, 

Arrayed in gloom, thou hast for me no smile ; 
Thou canst not whisper pleasure to this heart. 

Thy aspect cannot life's sad ills beguile. 
O'er thee, the sombre child of Winter, stern, 

Nature is weeping in funereal gloom; 
Cheerless the trophies that adorn thy urn; 

Cold are the rites that consecrate thy tomb. 

Farewell, December ! and with thee, the year, — 
Another year, that ends its course with thee ; 

Another year that's severed from my span, 
Lost in the embrace of dark Eternity. 



48 FOR THE DEAF AND DUMB. 

What hopes and fears, what schemes of future bliss 
Have sparkled on the past with fairy gleam ! 

Futile those schemes, and false each hope, for this 
Brief life is but the shadow of a dream. 

Farewell, December! — Ere in frowns, again 

Thou reign'st, the empress of the howling storm, 
Perhaps this bosom, free from secret pain. 

May rest in quiet; — this unconscious form 
May pillow kindly on its lowly bed, 

And know of grief no more. — Will't not be sweet, 
When gently called by an approving God, 

On yonder peaceful shore to rest the weary feet 1 



FOR THE DEAF AND DUMB. 

Ye kind Benevolent ! that know 
Of intellectual bliss the sum, 

Ye whose expanded feelings glow. 
Smile on the hapless Deaf and Dumb ! 

On them the storms have rudely blown, 
They wither on the breast of even ; 

Receive the flowerets to your own. 
Their fragrance will ascend to heaven. 



RETROSPECTIVE. 49 

In knowledge let them freely share, 
From the waste mind let darkness flee ; 

Bid the bright day-beam kindle there, 
The lamp of immortality. 

Tliough soothing blandishment ne'er cheers 
Their solitude, nor utterance kind, — 

Yet mutual sympathy is theirs, 
The language of the kindred mind. 

And this shall bless you, and the tear, 
Nature's pure accent — will reveal 

Emotions undefined, yet dear. 
The tribute that the heart can feel. 

Yes ! and the bosom whispered prayer 
Of Innocence shall rise, while some 

Winged messenger to God will bear 
The offering of the Deaf and Dumb. 



RETROSPECTIVE. 

How many, that a few months since 
Sat with us by our Christmas fire. 

Have left Earth's low inheritance. 
And at God's bidding gone up higher ! 

D 



50 RETROSPECTIVE. 

How many, we were wont to deem 

Would in gray hairs our solace be, 
Have left these precincts, where men dream, 

To test the great reality ! 

A child, that kissed away our care. 

Whose smiles strewed life with some sweet flow- 
Has left our bosom's love, to share [ers, 

Love of heaven's hyacinthine bowers ! 

A friend — but Retrospection ! stop — 
Nor stir the founts of hidden grief; 

Yet bless I Him, who, for each drop 
Of anguish, has a kind relief, — 

And for each mortal hurt, a cure. 

That penetrates the heart within ; 
The Medicine of Mercy, sure. 

And safe for sickness wrought by sin. 

Religion ! — ^be its treasures mine ! 

With this, I am creation's heir ; 
With this, a worm with God shall shine ; 

Without it, what remains 1 — Despair ! 



51 



WORSHIP. 

Irradiate Thou ! although thy throne 

Is arched above revolving spheres, 
Though attributes are thine alone 

In number, countless as thy years, — 
Though 'neath thy feet is darkness spread, 

There the hushed thunders, trembling, lie. 
Though in thy presence, fraught with dread, 

The unveiled worshipper may die, 

Yet we, Oh God ! a feeble band. 

In Jesus, may acceptance claim ; 
Yet we, the creatures of thy hand. 

May come, and breathe a Father's name ! 
Lord of Assemblies ! Oh, inspire 

Our hearts with eloquence of prayer ; 
From yonder temple waft the fire. 

That glows upon thine altar there. 

While we approach the mercy seat, 
Once hidden, but in Christ restored, 

And tread, with unpresuming feet, 
The place of Holiest to the Lord, — 



52 bunyan's chair. 

Hear Thou in heaven, and oh, impart 
Some ray that burns and cheers above, 

The thrill that tells us where Thou art, 
Dread Uncreate ! is light and love. 

Thou art Almighty — we are dust, — 

Thou art All-seeing, — finite we. 
In judgment erring, — Thou art just, 

Fountain of strength ! we draw from thee. 
Shine on our worship — Rise, thou Star 

Of David, chase the night away ! 
Bid Faith's strong vision look afar 

To Thee, the Light, the Truth, the Way ! 



BUNYAN'S CHAIR. 

On receiving a Picture of John Bunyan's Oaken 
Chair; which still remains in the Vestry of his 
Chapel, in Bedford, England. 

A THOUSAND years ago, no doubt. 

Towered up the sapling, fair. 
From whose tough heart wast thou shaped out, — 

John Bunyan's Oaken Chair ! 



bunyan's chair. 53 

And silent centuries have gone, 

Since some forgotten wight 
Made thee, that seemest so forlorn. 

Both beautiful and tight. 

The two brass nails, whose value must 

As relics, rival gold — 
Were wrought, and in thy fore legs driven 

By Bunyan's self, I'm told. 

And here thou art — and show'st the scars 

Of use, and age's rust. 
While thrones and seats of kings and czars, 

Have tottered down to dust. 

Old Chair ! with thoughts akin to dread, 

I look on thee, for thou 
Call'st up the venerable dead; — 

One sits before me now ! 

One sits before me ! — who is he 1 — 

A gray-haired man he seems ; 
Such flashing eye, yet kindly, we 

May sometimes see in dreams. 

The same in reverend form and look 

That boyhood pictured, when 
I dwelt, impassioned, on his Book, — 

My heaven of romance, then ! 



54 bunyan's chair. 

The same that simply, truly taug-ht, 
While simple hearts gave heed — 

Of freedom, gold has never bought. 
Of men, whom Truth has freed. 

The same that fell beneath the grim 

Myrmidon coward crew. 
That fastened outward gyves on him, 

Yet could not soul subdue. 

The same whose noble fancies soared, 

Like eagles, to the sky ; 
And far above their dungeon poured 

Immortal strains on high. 

Chair ! that hast seen in faction's whirl 
Three kingdoms sorely vexed. 

Speak through the mist of years to ms, 
Who are in turn perplexed : 

And if thou canst, to these far climes 

The destiny reveal. 
That soon for us shall fall from Time's 

Untiring, toiling wheel. 

Shall here be forged the self-same chain, 

The lofty free to bind] 
Shall prisons, whips, and racks of pain. 

Thrall here undaunted mind ? 



BUNYAN S CHAIR. 55 

Shall brutes breathe Aere, like those that led 

Old Bunyan to his cell 1 
And shapes flit here^ like those that fed 

In England, fires of hell 1 

If so, — what matters it with us 

Are found the g'lorious dead ] — 
That fields of fame are here, and hills 

Of victory lift their head 1 

What matters it that God has rained 

His benisons, if we 
Must write our fallen nation's name 

No longer with the free 1 

If thought be muzzled, and the Press 
Be hemmed with outdrawn steel 1 — 

If to our sword won heritage 
Be linked the bondman's seal ! 

Yea, if upon the innocent. 

Be fixed the brand of shame ] — 
And such to save from murder, boots 

Not even the Christian's name ! 

No more — no more — I will not make 

A stricken land my theme, — 
A chainless spirit is abroad 

That shall her faith redeem, — 



56 IS IT WELL WITH THE CHILD. 

And purge away her one dark spot, — 
For she, the tempest-tossed, 

Must rise, a pure republic, free, 
Or sink — a nation lost. 
1835. 



IS IT WELL WITH THE CHILD? 

'Tis well with her, who on that bed 
Of sickness, late, was laid so low ; 

'Tis well — though anguish bowed her head, 
And conflicts rent her bosom so. 

'Twas well with her in health's glad hour, 
Well, when the wasting arrow came ; 

Oh, she could trust his wing of power, 
For she had learned a Saviour's name. 

'Tis well with her, though we have laid 
In kindred dust that beauteous form ; 

She lives, a bright, celestial maid. 
Far, far above life's raging storm. 

'Tis well with her — the lovely one. 
Though like a broken flower she lies ; 

Her mortal puts immortal on. 
Her graces flourish in the skies. 



NEW YORK. 57 

'Tis well with her — oh God 'tis well 
Ever with those whom thou dost love, 

Whether in fleshly tents they dwell, 
Or tread thy starry courts above. 



NEW YORK; 

DURING THE PESTILENCE OF 1822. 

Sister city ! wrapt in fears. 

Stricken by affliction's rod, 
Now with you we mingle tears — 

We have heard the voice of God ! 
In your street the sigh of anguish 

Steals upon the shuddering ear ; 
On your couch are those that languish, 

Destined to another sphere. 

Fathers hasten to the tomb ; 

Lo, in dust the matron lies, — 
Blighted is the maiden's bloom, 

Where the stern Death-Angel flies ; 
Mute the cheerful note of gladness. 

Mirth forsakes her favourite spot, — 
Hark ! the midnight sob of sadness, 

Mothers weep, the babe is not ! 



58 SLAVERY. 

Now in Death's appalling hour, 

When the thunderbolt is nigh, 
Spare the victims ! Sovereign Power ! 

Walk in robes of mercy by. 
On the wings of earnest prayer 

Shall for these our incense rise, — 
Wafted to yon altar, there 

Smile upon the sacrifice. 



SLAVERY. 

The Hypocrites ! how curst are they, — 
Their shameless treachery, how deep — 

W^ho boast of mild Religion's sway. 
Yet leave their race in chains to weep ! 

My Country ! shall it ever be. 

That thou, escaped from Slavery's rod, — 
Thou, only happy, only free, 

Shall barter, too, the price of blood 1 

Say ! shall the offspring of that soil. 

Which smokes e'en now with veteran gore. 

Be sharers in the cruel spoil, 
That desolates the Afric shore 1 



SONG OF DEBORAH AND BARAK. 59 

" Forbid it, heaven !" each freeman cries, 
" Forbid it feeling-, manhood, shame !" 

Then haste ! avert the sacrifice. 

And cleanse thy proud, thy sullied name. 



SONG OF DEBORAH AND BARAK. 

Lord ! when thou went'st in might from Seir, 
When thou didst march from Edom's field, 

The hoary mountains quaked with fear. 
Earth trembled at thy burning shield. 

Thy wheels were heard, and ocean fled. 

The heavens were scrolled beneath thy feet ; 

The old foundations shook with dread, 
When wrath was gathered round thy seat. 

We praise thee. Lord ! alone possessed 
Of all that's high, or greatly fair; 

Though darkness is thy chosen rest, 
Yet mercy beams divinely there ! 



60 ARE NOT MY DAYS FEW. 



OH MARY, TAKE THIS BRILLIANT GEM. 

Oh, Mary ! take this brilliant gem, 

I've brought thee from the Indian mine ; 

I would it were a diadem, 

Dear maid ! the treasure should be thine. 

Sparkling with nature's modest glow. 
Unnumbered beauties thou mayst see ; 

'Tis chaste as Virtue's self, and so 
Sweet girl ! it doth resemble thee. 



ARE NOT MY DAYS FEW? 

Hast thou not treasured the amount 
All-wise Creator, of my days ! 

In thy dread councils are not few 
The years appointed man? 

Soon I shall lay this weary frame 

To rest upon its native bed ; 
This form, the worm's unconscious prey, 

Will slumber peacefully. 



ARE NOT MY DAYS FEW. 61 

Pleasure, Ambition, — ah, how frail, 

Deceiving, will ye then appear ; 
Inscribed with luring- falsehood all, 

All, oh, my God ! but thee. 

Why then should folly's passing dream 
The mind's best energies control 1 

Why should the world's vain pageantry 
Allure the soul from heaven 1 

Why should I sigh when sorrow's cloud, 
Gathering, obscures life's little day ? 

When disappointment withers hope. 
Why should I weep 1 

Teach me, my Maker, earth to prize 

As unsubstantial, insincere ; 
Draw me from time, and bid me soar 

To immortality. 



62 HIS PATH IS THE OCEAN. 



HIS PATH IS THE OCEAN, HE MAKETH 
HIS DWELLING. 

His path is the ocean, he maketh his dwelling 
Where tempests are cradled, and winds rudely 
blow; 

His joys like the billows he buffets, now swelling. 
And now like to them sunk forgotten below. 

On land with his messmates to share he is willing, 
By veterans in wickedness easily led, — 

He's fleeced, cast adrift, when is gone the last 
shilling, 
The sky for his covering, the pavement his bed. 

By perils, by watchings, by misery broken, 
Of the world he is weary, though few are his 
years ; 

Does he sigh for a better 1 — to him none has spoken 
Of the clime where for ever are wiped away tears. 

In penury now, and in dread of the morrow, 
He's friendless, forsaken, and haggard, and 



HIS PATH IS THE OCEAN. 63 

The jest of the thoughtless, he lingers in sorrow, 
Till death kindly enters and closes the scene. 

And such is the Mariner ! — such was he, rather. 
Till justice had taught us our duty to him ; 

Now gladly and freely, life's comforts we gather 
Around his rough course, so long dreary and 
dim. 

Life's comforts ! — Oh yes, and to him shall be 

given. 

From hearty benevolence here running o'er — 

The Chart that directs the poor wanderer to 

heaven, — 

The Star that shines out on Eternity's shore. 

In storms shall rise sweetly the Sailor's devotion, 
His song in the calm of the beautiful sea, — 

In Bethels ashore, in his toil on the ocean, 
To God, who the God of the lowly will be. 



64 THE TWO PILLARS. 



THE TWO PILLARS. 

If I were to speak of preparation for the out- 
pouring of the Holy Spirit, I should mention the 
Sunday-school and the Temperance cause ; those 
two Doric pillars of society, standing- as they do 
on the firm foundations of the Gospel, and tower- 
ing as they do among us, admired and guarded by 
the leading minds of the Christian community. 
N. Y. Evangelist. 

What mean these towering pillars, that 

So beautifully stand ; 
And look in simple majesty 

Sublimely o'er the land 1 

Round one is twined the heavenly wreath 

Of everlasting green, 
Where smiles, and joys, and budding years 

Luxuriantly are seen. 

'Tis based on love, and gracefully 

The column soars on high ; 
Bright hopes are clustering round the shaft. 

Whose summit seeks the sky. 



THE TWO PILLARS. 65 

The other, like a giant, springs 

From Resolution's rock ; 
Temptation's storms may round it rave, 

It meets, unharmed, the shock. 

How comely are the chaplets which 

Festoon this noble pile ! — 
The grief that's healed, the tear that's dried — 

The wife and children's smile ! 

And guarded by the watchful bands 

Of Gratitude, behold, 
Around them gather aged men, 

And sweet ones of the fold. 

Twin pillars of a nation's pride ! 

Unshaken shall ye stand, 
When pyramids reel down to dust, 

And heaves like ocean, land. 

For as the ever during hills 

Must Truth and Temperance be ; — 

Oh, God, grant us such resting place, 
When pass the earth and sea ! 



66 LEAVE THY FATHERLESS CHILDREN. 



LEAVE THY FATHERLESS CHILDREN. 

Come hither, my sweet babes ! — This is the hour 
Your sainted father gathered ye around, 
In happy circle. Come ! and we will join 
The accustomed evening prayer ; and though he 

kneels 
With us no more, his spirit lingers near, 
And gladly will behold us. 

Open now 
God's Book — the treasure of rich promise, where 
Are garnered jewels for the orphaned one, — 
Yea, for the widow, precious comfortings, 
Richer than wedges of the hidden gold. 
" Leave," saith He, " Leave thy fatherless, and I 
Will safely keep them, and in my right arm 
Let thy sad widows trust" — This is for us! 



VESPERS. 



VESPERS. 



How awful is the note of praise, 
The mingling' choir, — 

While slowly wafting vesper lays, 

Mortals the glad oblation raise 
To David's lyre ! 

When they devotion's impulse feel, 

How calm the hour ! 
With trembling hope, the sisters kneel, 
While Music, thought from earth doth steal 

With holy power. 

Richly the murmuring cadence flows, 

The impulse given — 
With cheerful swell, with solemn close. 
Draws us away from earthly woes, 
To dream of heaven. 

Sweet is the requiem for the dead — 

'Tis Music's sigh ! — 
At such an hour, while o'er the bed 
We bend, where rests the peaceful head. 
Who would not wish to die ? 



68 THE DESERTER. 



THE DESERTER. 

His cheek was pale, and wildly there 
Was seen the fearful blanch of wo ; 

His eye was fixed, its lurid glare 
Told of the heart's convulsive throe. 

I heard the drum beat mournful knell, 
The fatal moments swiftly sped — 

I shuddered as the signal fell, 
I saw him numbered with the dead ! 

To bear him to an early tomb. 

Stern men were seen beside his bier; 

Unknown, he fell in youthful bloom, 
Forgotten was Affection's tear. 

And such, accursed War ! I said. 
Thy ills, and such thy hateful stain ; 

Nurtured by thee, the heart grows dead. 
And sighing Virtue pleads in vain. 



THE COLOMBIAN FLAG. 69 



THE COLOMBIAN FLAG. 

What Meteor burns clear on the bosom of night, 

What trophy illumes the horizon afar ? 
'Tis the flag- of the brave — beaming herald of light — 

The symbol of glory, Colombia's Star! 
It waves o'er the fortress where tyranny's yoke 

Had crushed with oppression the soul of the 
Free; 
On the ruins of crime where the death spell is 
broke. 

It banners triumphant, Grenada ! o'er thee. 

In the valleys of Quito the symbol is seen, 

The soil of the Patriot is dewed with a tear, 
It streams o'er the mountain with aspect serene. 

And the tempests of night in rebuke disappear; 
Afar to the breeze, see ! it floats on the mast. 

Where Commerce unshackled, revives his 
domain. 
The pledge of the future — the pride of the past. 

Full proudly it waves o'er the land and the main. 

Let the tyrant's heart tremble when Liberty calls. 
His myrmidons shrink at the conqueror's name ; 



70 WHO MAY ENTER HEAVEN. 

While the watchword of Freedom the despot 
appals, [claim. 

The Spaniard, restored, shall her honours pro- 
We hail the proud flag to Columbia's strand. 
Where the plaudit of millions bids welcome 
again 
To the symbol of hope on the billow and land, 
The triple striped banner of Peace and New 

Spain ! 
1820. 



WHO MAY ENTER HEAVEN? 

Not he, indulging vain pretence, 
Who boasts some impulse given ; 

Nor he that braves Omnipotence, 
Can hope to enter heaven. 

The careless and the mad profane, 

Possess no holy calm ; 
The heart that holds Religion vain 

Can never taste its balm. 

But he is blessed, whose thoughts are still 
From proud presumption free ; 

Who loves mankind, and doth fulfil 
That precept. Lord ! to Thee. 



71 



VERSES 

Occasioned by the death of H. J. Esq. who having 
purchased a ticket of admission to Peale's Paint- 
ing of " The Court of Death," exhibiting in the 
Capitol at Albany ; while in the act of crossing 
the threshold leading to the room, fell down and 
instantly expired. 

The serious wish was thine to view 
His Court whose symbol is the tomb ; 

To scan the scenes that genius true 

Had sketched with more than fancy's gloom. 

Heaven heard the prayer — 'twas worthy one 

Longing for immortality ; 
And suddenly, thy labour done. 

Called thee to its reality. 

Yet shall not terror o'er thee rule, 
Nor Death retain his boasted prize ; 

His Court was but the vestibule 
That led thee to thy native skies. 



72 THE DYING YEAR. 



THE DYING YEAR. 

Thou dying Year ! thou dying- Year ! 

Have we not seen thee quickly fly 1 
Vision of days, but lately here, 

We wake, and thou hast hurried by. 
In fitful murmurings, sadly wild. 

Thy dirge the sullen winds have sung ; 
And Winter comes, thy weeping child, 

His fleecy mantle o'er him flung. 

Prophet of ages ! hoary seer ! 

Thou wast not seen where systems roll ; 
W^hen flew thy axle, Charioteer ! 

In noiseless triumph to its goal ] 
Suns, burning once, now quenched, no trace 

Marked of thee, in infinity ; 
Nor the dim worlds that hang in space 

Wrapt in their own eternity. 

Thou wast — yet mortals know not whence ; 

Hast been enjoyed — thou art not here ; 
Thou'st vanished ! gone for ever hence. 

Yet we shall meet thee, deathless Year ! 



THE DYING YEAR. 73 

The Chronicler, unwearied Time, 

Exulting-ly points to the scroll 
Where, deeply graved with touch sublime, 

Live the long annals of the soul. 

There dwell in characters of fire. 

Corruption's deed and brooding Hate; 
And lettered there in language dire. 

The mad oppressor views his fate. 
There lives the prodigal's just doom. 

And his that shared the selfish part ; 
And there, in never dying bloom. 

The actions of the generous heart. 

Before the darkly burning throne, 

Time renders up his dreadful seal ; 
The deeds of men, unclothed, alone. 

The mystic manuals reveal. 
'Tis finished, — in Heaven's chancery, 

— Angels behold it with a tear — 
The scroll is given. Eternity 

Embosoms the receding Year. 



74 



THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. 

There is a strain of holy power, 

Unknown to fancy's ear, — 
That often charms the silent hour, 

And God delights to hear ; 
'Tis when with meekly lifted eye, 

That beams parental care, 
With humble faith and hallowed sigh. 

Ascends the Mother's Prayer. 

When Childhood treads its devious way, 

With thorny flowerets strewed — 
When youth with folly loves to stray, 

A stranger still to God ; — 
To Him, the source of sure relief. 

The suppliant doth repair; 
She casts on Him her secret grief. 

Who hears the Mother's Prayer. 

In manhood's prime her anxious heart 

Attends his footsteps still ; 
In all his pleasure bears a part. 

And weeps the wayward ill ; — 



FAIR IS THE SCENE. 

While agonized with fear and love, 

And ever watchful care, 
Like incense, sweet, ascends above 

The pious Mother's Prayer. 

And while devotion fear dispels. 

With holy hope assured, — 
Some kind commissioned spirit tells, 

" Thy vows of faith are heard !" 
Oh, rich the g-race that heaven bestows, 

To bless maternal care ; 
And larg-e the stream of love that flows. 

Called by a Mother's Prayer. 



FAIR IS THE SCENE WHEN THE MISTS 
OF THE MORNING. 

Fair is the scene when the mists of the morning", 
Chased o'er the mountains, fly quickly away ; 

Rich is the view when the faint blush of dawning, 
Brightening, discloses the empire of day. 

Splendid the pomp when the glad beam advancing. 
Illumines with glory its march through the sky ; 

Gilding the landscape, its beauties enhancing, 
As it flings o'er creation its beautiful dye. 



76 TO WHOM SHALL WE GO BUT TO THEE. 

Chaste is the ray when the night star is gleaming, 
Lovely and lone, in its orbit of blue ; 

Mild is the halo when Cynthia beaming, 
Mellows the shade with her silvery hue. 

Sweet are these charms, and this bosom will ever 
Own with devotion their magic to please ; 

But ne'er while there's truth be forgetful, oh never. 
That the smile of affection is sweeter than these. 



TO WHOM SHALL WE GO BUT TO 
THEE? 

When rankling sorrows wound the soul, 

And cares invade the breast ; 
And distant seems the blissful goal 

Of peace and lasting rest, — 

Where shall the mourning wanderer go, 

And where the sufferer fly 1 
What balm can heal his bosom's wo. 

Whose hand his tears can dry 1 

Say, shall he seek in empty fame 
A cure for bitter care 1 



TO WHOM SHALL WE GO BUT TO THEE. 77 

Can echoed praise or honour's name, 
Beguile the soul's despair ] 

Will grandeur with its dazzling lure, 

Bestow a kind relief; 
Can pageant pomp and pride ensure 

A panacea for grief? 

Doth pleasure with bewitching guile, 

Invite him to her arms ] 
Too soon he finds the glance and smile 

Are but deceitful charms. 

Where shall the mourning wanderer go,— 

Oh, where the sufferer fly 1 
What balm can heal his bosom's wo. 

Whose hand his tears can dry ] 

Blessed Saviour ! 'tis alone to thee. 

He flies with anguish prest ; 
And thou the captive soul wilt free. 

And give the weary rest. 



78 A COLLOQUY OF BETHLEHEM. 



A COLLOQUY OF BETHLEHEM. 

And lo the Stai-, which they saw in the East, went before tliem ; 
till it came and stood over where the young Child was. 

Matt. ii. 9. 

O'er Bethlehem the beauteous Star, 
Bright stranger ! sheds mysterious ray ; 

It guides the traveller afar, 

It cheers the wanderer's weary way. 

FIRST SHEPHERD. 

Oh, Shepherd ! whence the peerless gem 
That burns alone on heaven's brow 1 

Beams there Judea's diadem — 
Returns a king or conqueror now ? 

SECOND SHEPHERD. 

No diadem for Judah burns ; 

No regal sceptre for her kings ; 
From spoil no conqueror returns, 

No pageantry the herald brings ; — 

It shines, the harbinger of peace, 
Israel no more shall weep in blood ; 



WHEN YON BRIGHT ORB. 79 

It bids dark superstition cease, 
And leads the sinner to his God. 

FIRST AND SECOND SHEPHERDS. 

Star of Redemption ! from thy sphere, 
A herald Star — thou wanderest lone ; 

Shine on our path, dispel our fear. 
And guide us to the Infant's throne. 



WHEN YON BRIGHT ORB BENEATH 
THE WEST. 

When yon bright orb beneath the west 

Descends in shades of even, — 
When all is hushed in peaceful rest. 
The soul aspires to regions blest, 

And finds repose in Heaven. 

'Tis then all fleeting joys below. 

Awhile to mortals given, — 
Seem but the pageant of a show. 
The veil that hides a latent wo — 

And false, compared with Heaven. 



80 MAY, 1835. 

'Tis then all cares and sorrows here, 
By which frail man is driven, — 

As evening- shadows disappear. 

And all within is calm and clear 
Illumed with rays from Heaven. 

Freed from this Earth, my soul would share 

The joys to angels given. 
In bright celestial mansions, where 
Blest virtue beams divinely fair, 

The glorious dawn of Heaven. 



MAY, 1835. 

Month of May ! I wonder why 

Poets ever sang of thee ; 
Thou art present here, yet I 

Naught of May, the charmer, see. 

All thy skies are clouded o'er ; 

Either east winds coldly blow, 
Or comes down the feathery store, 

Lingering yet, of Winter's snow. 



MAY, 1835. 81 

I have looked to see the bright 

Sunsets of thy mellow day ; 
But was glad, by anthracite. 

Sitting, to forget 'twas May. 

I went forth upon thy First, 

Balmy breezes to inhale, 
But 'twas raw as Christmas, just ; 

Lips and cheeks were blue and pale. 

Yesterday I strolled to make 

Bouquets, as I used to do ; 
But I got an ague shake. 

And a spell of coughing too. 

If cold weather, now thy mate. 

Takes a hint and will retire. 
By July, I calculate. 

We may do without a fire. 



82 SONG OF THE BIBLE. 



SONG OF THE BIBLE. 

The Bible speaks, that has spoken before, 

Thoug-h men have heard in scorn ; 
It speaks to-day, as it spake of yore, 

To all of Adam born ; — 

I am speaking yet, I am speaking yet, 

As I spake long years ago ; 
And I bring down light to those that sit 

In the shadows of death below. 

The powers of Sin, they have leagued with men, 

To hinder my warning cry ; 
But in their dismay they have trembled, when 

My voice was lifted high. 

The infidel rose in his zeal, unblest ; 

False philosophy deemed me a sham ; 
And its leader wore upon his crest, 

" Ecrasez Vinfame.'*^ 

To his place has the scoffing infidel gone. 

With Shaftesbury and Voltaire ; 
I am speaking yet, — his wail goes on, — 

His wail of anguish — where ! 



SONG OF THE BIBLE. 83 

I've broken the iron slumber of years, 
Which the Papacy cast around me ; 

And I witness his tottering step and fears, 
Whose traditions would have bound me. 

I am speaking yet to Earth in sin. 

With more than mortal lungs ; 
Already to her nations, in 

A hundred and fifty tongues. 

I'm found in the Eastern clime, where fast 

The Hindu holds his chain ; 
And I'm seen in the North as bread that's cast 

Abroad, to be gathered again. 

I go down in the ships and cheer the men 

That traverse the mighty sea ; 
I go with the mission bands, and then 

The Pagan is glad for me. 

To the dying fool who has bartered heaven, 

I speak, as he gasps for breath, 
Of gold that unto rust is given. 

When it cannot save from death. 

To the poor and despised, yet rich in faith. 

Whose love to Christ is much, 
I speak, and my word of promise saith 

That blessed for aye, are such. 



84 SONG OF THE BIBLE. 

To the proud I say, let those that think 
They stand, look, lest they fall, — 

But the trembling- soul that fears to sink, 
I raise above them all. 

To those that in the Tempter's hour 

Have seen his dreadful shape, 
I've said, for this, my sovereign power 

Shall find some sure escape. 

I am speaking yet, I am speaking yet, — 

The secrets I've made known. 
Have caused the wretch his grief to forget. 

And the king to forget his throne. 

One word of mine has planted the thorn 

In the sinner's downy bed, — 
And cheered the dreams of the just, forlorn, 

Though a dungeon wrapt his head. 

I am speaking yet, — my words of life 

Drop an immortal balm 
For mortals, grappling in the strife. 

With Death's omnipotent arm. 

I sooth the father when distress 
Wrings damps out on his brow ; 

Leave with thy God thy fatherless, — 
Thy widow with him now. 



SONG OF THE BIBLE. 85 

I speak to the fainting mother, when 

Her last look tries to dwell 
On all she loves and leaves ; and then 

How sweet is her farewell ! 

I speak as the innocent babe goes home, 

When it feels the mortal touch, — 
O, fear not, little one ! to come ; 

His kingdom is of such. 

I am speaking yet ! nor shall return 

My word, as void in time ; 
Nor when the last day's sun shall burn, 

Or the stars' last hymn shall chime. 

I am speaking yet, — and I shall speak 

When the heavens pass away ; 
And my foes will in their agony seek 

To hide from that fearful day ! 



86 THE LEVELLER. 



THE LEVELLER. 

" My mother died, and I sorrowed for her, more 
because England had lost a Countess, than that / 
had been deprived of a parent. I thought it was 
dreadful that we should be subject to a shroud — 
a pall — a coffin!" 

'Tis humbling- to our poor mortality. 

To think that we must leave all fond delight, 

All joys and friendships, all we know, and be 
Lost to our bosom's love, inurned in night, 

And slumber where none dream, beneath the pall, — 

Forgotten by them all. 

To leave illuminated rooms — the dance. 
Exciting song, and hum of careless mirth. 

For darkness which sound breaks not, save per- 
chance 
The tooth of reptile burrowing near our earth — 

Which falls not on the dull regardless ear, 

And causes us no fear. 

And yet, to the sad child of poverty 

It matters nothing : — Death disturbs him not ; 



THE LEVELLER. 87 

Yea, by its friendly portal he may flee 

From the world's cares, lie down and be forgot. 
Calm is that nig-ht of resting, sweet the bed 
Where he reclines his head. 

The grave, to him who fellowships with woes. 
Is clothed in beauty : yea, the softest down 

Is there inviting him to kind repose ; 

And 0, within that chamber the cold frown 

Of the unfriendly world is not: the jeer 

Of proud ones comes not here. 

And he that in his Maker puts his trust. 
Fears not to die. Even in the trying hour. 

When life's strings break, and he draws near the 
He is as one superior to the power [dust, 

Of Death. Intently on the opening tomb 

He looks, and sees no gloom. 

But she, the haughty, affluent, and gay, 

The pleasure-loving, beautiful and young — 

The high — the flattered — shall the damp cold clay 
Wrap her fair limbs, and she be rudely flung, 

A broken flower, from cherished ones away. 

Given unto decay ] 

Forget it. Lady ! — seek out pleasure's haunt ; 
Say to Prosperity, Be thou my good ! 



88 TO THE MISSOURI. 

And to the thought of sickness, — death — avaunt ! 

Nor on my joys, unbidden guest, intrude : 
Forget it at the rout and brilliant hall, 
And in the crowded ball. 

Thou canst not ali&ays ! — thou mayst shut thine eye 

Upon the future in thy revelry ; 
But the unwelcome truth that thou must die, 

In midnight's silence shall come over thee, — 
Admonishing, that woven is the shroud, 
Alike, for low and proud. 



TO THE MISSOURI. 

WRITTEN BEFORE THE CONSTITUTION OF THE STATE 
OF MISSOURI WAS ADOPTED. 

Roll, vast Missouri ! roll thy mighty wave. 
Where savage mountains skirt the southern sea ; 

In foaming pride the woodless desert lave. 

Where nature cleaves its rugged breast for thee. 

Queen of the waters ! waft to Indian shores 
The fruitful tribute of a generous soil. 

Where genius triumphs, where rich plenty pours 
The glad exuberance of honest toil. 



TO THE MISSOURI. 89 

Go mighty billow ! bear to Nature's child 
The noblest boon compassion can bestow ; 

Improving arts, diffusive knowledge mild, 

The living fount whence happiness should flow. 

Go tell the wretch the Whitenfan yet can feel, 
He yet can weep the wrongs that avarice gave ; 

Though deep the wound, the Calumet shall heal, 
The Peace branch blossom on the hatchet's 
grave. 

Roll on — uncrimsoned with pollution's stain, 
The crime of Freemen still unknown to thee, — 

To latest ages fertilize the plain. 

That proudly boasts the Ethiopian free ! 



TO THE MISSOURI. 

WRITTEN AFTER THE CONSTITUTION OF THE STATE 
OF MISSOURI WAS ADOPTED, 1820. 

To thee, Missouri ! fancy woke the strain, [lay ; 

While prescience hailed Compassion's simple 
She fearless sang of Freedom's sylvan reign. 

When Slavery's night should yield to smiling 
day. 



90 TO THE MISSOURI. 

Raptured, she soared to fields of Eden bloom, 
And wing-ed her way to hope's Elysian sphere, — 

Alas, how changed ! the vision fades in gloom, 
And naught remains but Pity's lonely tear. 

Shame on the heart where avarice finds a rest, 
And bids its victim seal the Negro's knell ! 

Shame on my country ! that within her breast. 
The hireling advocates of Slavery dwell. 

Yet shall not feeling, manhood, ever sleep ; — 
The Star of Liberty sets not in night, — 

Where now in solitude its votaries weep. 
Shall glory rise with new effulgence, bright. 

Some happier age in Legislation's halls. 

Thou Eloquence ! wilt break the accursed chain ; 

While Freedom's Genius towers along the walls. 
Nature shall plead, nor plead her rights in vain. 



SONG OF JACOB TO RACHEL. 91 



SONG OF JACOB TO RACHEL. 

Oh, who is she ! ye swains declare, 
What Shepherdess that wanders nigh 1 

Is she a form of earth or air, — 

The maid that meets my ravished eye 1 

Her locks are g-emmed with Hermon's dew, 
Like nig-ht's star ray her smiles are seen ; 

Her eyes of morn's cerulean hue, 
Speak all the spotless soul within. 

With sandals girt, to Haran's well. 
At noon the fainting Hebrew came ; 

Her charms he heard the Shepherds tell, 
They sang of love and Syria's dame. 

The maid that smiles so sweetly fair. 
Shall bless the weary pilgrim's toil ; 

Like Sharon's rose her beauties are, — 
The flower of blooming Padan's soil. 



92 SHE MAY NOT DIE. 



SHE MAY NOT DIE ! 



The only art her guilt to cover, 

To hide her shame from every eye, 
To give repentance to her lover, 

And wring his bosom, is— to die. 

Goldsmith. 



Ah, no ! Compassion yet imploring-, 
With balmy lip will sooth the sigh ; 

While Pity bends with look restoring, 
The hapless maiden shall not die ! 

The thorn of guilt may pierce the sinner, 
Repentance will succeed the smart ; 

Religion's holy smile shall win her, 
And Mercy heal the wounded heart. 



0, WHO WOULD LOVE A WORLD LIKE THIS. 93 



, WHO WOULD LOVE A WORLD LIKE 
THIS. 

O, WHO would love a world like this, 

The sad receptacle of fears, — 
Did not the hope of future bliss 

Like suns, break out and gild our tears ! 
Can all the worldling calls his own, 

The meteor bliss, by pleasure given. 
Cheer the sad heart that weeps alone, 

Or heal the breast by anguish riven 1 

O, who would yield existence' day, 

The boon so frail, so soon withdrawn, — 
Did not the hand that leads our way 

Point to a fairer, brighter dawn ? 
Could misery ne'er some ray descry 

Beyond death's shadowy veil of gloom ; 
The wretch, accursed, would dread to die, 

Despair would shudder at the tomb. 



94 LAKE ERIE. 



LAKE ERIE ; Sept. 10, 1813. 

'Tis midnight, the dark wave of Erie flows lone, 
'Mid the gloom of the forest that shadows it 
round ; [moan. 

The slow-winding surge lends its deep sullen 
And the hoarse winds reluctantly echo the sound. 

'Tis midnight, and see, 'mid the gleam of the wave, 
Where 'neath the cold ray their sad vigils they 
keep — 

In the mists of the foaming, the Souls of the Brave, 
As all lonely they march o'er the cliff of the deep ! 

'Tis midnight ; they tell when the thundet of war 
Proclaimed the approach of the dark battle fray; 

When the blast and the death drum rolled deeply 

and far, [prey. 

While the angel of blood hovered high o'er his 

Look afar, — 'tis hope's symbol, the flag of the free ! 

Through the red cloud it gleams on the war 

shattered mast; [be, — 

Proud stars ! soon the types of stern triumph to 

Bright pledge of the future, the pride of the past. 



SOLITUDE. 95 

The tall barks in merciless conflict have neared, 
Death gleams on the blade as they charge on 
the foe ; 

And hark, 'tis the shouting of victory heard, — 
Columbia, thy foemen in battle are low ! 

'Neath the dark waves of Erie now slumber the 
brave. 

In the bed of its waters for ever they rest ; 
The flag of their glory floats over their grave ; 

The Souls of the Heroes in memory are blessed. 



SOLITUDE. 

There are, who seek in happy Solitude, 
Not Solitude of base misanthropy, — 

The bliss, on which the gay cannot intrude, 
The thoughts that revel in eternity. 

Then heaven is nigh, and the world's feverish 
dream. 

And passion's storm, grief's tumults disappear; 
Peace looks out smiling with celestial beam. 

And hope's fond ray illumes the latent tear. 



96 SOLITUDE. 

Yes, there are moments when with winning power, 
Retirement claims the willing soul for God ; 

How privileged, to tread at such an hour 
The hallowed path that folly never trod ! 

But fly, ye guilty ! from these shades profound ; 

Ye votaries ! approach not to the throne, 
Who, reckless, stray in dissipation's round, 

Who shun the sabbath of a heart alone. 

The fadeless flower that retrospection rears, 
And loves to rear, is nightshade, rank, to you, 

Memory, whose glance hath penetrated years, 
With scorpion sting will your retreat pursue. 

Fly to that world which ye have loved so well, 
Arrest its shadows, — all its pleasures share, 

Then ask Seclusion, "What are theyT' — she'll 
tell. 
Death to the soul, and food for curst despair ! 



TO THE SUN. 97 



TO THE SUN. 



Oh, glorious monarch ! Sire of day ! 

Emblem of the Eternal Mind, — 
Thou holdest thy majestic sway, 

In grandeur of thy own enshrined. 

Of old art thou. From nig-ht's long sleep. 
Chaos awakening, saw thy birth ; 

The Almighty called thee from the deep, 
The life of new created earth. 

Thou saw'st, when journeying on thy car, 

The animated tribes appear ; 
And thou wast present, when the star 

Of morning chanted from his sphere. 

And thy fair beams on Paradise 
Cast brightly down, exulting ray. 

When the Three One, in council wise. 
Gave Man the undivided sway. 

Thou saw'st him, conscious, walk abroad, 

In innocence and beauty free ; 
Thou saw'st his offspring, weaned from God, 

Render the impious vow to thee. 

G 



98 TO THE SUN. 

Deeds of destruction, dark and deep — 
Dread page ! — it has been thine to scan ; 

Thou hast beheld, when heaven could weep 
The madness, perfidy, of Man. 

His mandate once withheld thy course, 

To sentinel the battle plain ; 
His crime once withered up thy source. 

When He who lent thy fires was slain. 

When thou, like day's divinity, 
Climb'st the empyrean vault alone, 

I love to recog-nise in thee. 

The chastened splendours of the throne. 

While mighty empires wax and wane, 
O Sun ! and nations rise and die — 

Thou, undiminished, hold'st thy reign. 
The changeless sovereign of the sky. 

Man glides elate down pleasure's stream. 
Thou slumberest, tranquil, on the wave ; 

Man turns to dust — thy brilliant beam 
As brightly dances o'er his grave. 

Yet not immortal thy career ; 

Thou who hast witnessed Earth's decay, 
Dismantled, tumbled from thy sphere. 

With ruined worlds, wilt flee away. 



THE CONNECTICUT. 99 



THE CONNECTICUT. 

The scenes of gay childhood, to me ever dear, 
Often smile o'er the prospect in memory's 
dream ; 

Then the valley and mountain enchanting appear, 
And broadly meanders Connecticut's stream. 

'Twas there, dearest Brother ! when Autumn had 
prest 

His fingers of gold on the lawn and the wood, 
While our hearts were reposing, in sympathy blest, 

We wandered as free as the billow we loved. 

'Twas charming ! and oh, how delightful the hour. 

As we strayed where Northampton arose to the 

view ; [flower, 

While fancy culled fragrance from each budding 
We smiled at the sketch that futurity drew. 

With the freshness of morning we welcomed the 

sun, [played ; 

When his beam upon Holyoke's proud eminence 

And often in sadness we wandered at noon, 

Where the poplars lent awe to the cemetry's 

shade. 



100 THE WITHERED LEAF. 

Oh ! I wish not the heart that could carelessly stray 
Where thy landscapes, old Hampshire ! in ver- 
dure appear ! 

O'er its chill can no glimpse of tranquillity play, 
It knows not the pang, nor the bliss of a tear. 

Land of his Fathers ! the minstrel still loves thee, 

And fain would his numbers display all thy 

sweets ; 

Though cares may now claim him, a wanderer far 

from thee. 

His heart still is true and to childhood it beats. 

Like a ray of calm sunshine 'mid life's gathering- 
ills, 

Joy breaks on the pilgrim, in memory's dream ; 
And in vision he roams o'er his own native hills. 

And rambles again by Connecticut's stream. 



THE WITHERED LEAF. 



I SAW thee eddying on the air, 

Thou lonely fallen leaf; 
I marked thy hue, it once was fair. 

And yet thy reign how brief! 



THE WITHERED LEAF. lOl 

'Twas lately that in summer tide, 

Thou wav'dst on yonder tree ; 
I saw thee shine in dewy pride, 

When morning beamed on thee. 

How humble now, thy lowly lot. 

Neglected and alone ; 
Thy form and hue remembered not. 

Thy summer day has flown ! 
And such, I said, our chequered state, 

And such affection's doom, — 
It charms awhile, but wayward fate 

Despoils the fairy bloom. 

The morning beams that seem to bless. 

Too soon are veiled in tears ; 
The smiles that glow, when joys caress, 

Retire, when grief appears. 
Like thine, lone leaf, by storms bereft, 

The tints of summer fly ; 
And sorrow's hapless child is left 

To droop awhile — and die ! 



102 MRS. S. D. R. 



MRS. S. D. R. 

Mournfully bade she them adieu ; — 

Why left that mother these ? 
To seek health in its mountain haunts, 

And drink the balmy breeze. 
And silently her consort then, 

And wondering babes she pressed ; 
And tears dropped on her helpless one — 

The infant at her breast. 

One look, ere for New England's home ! 

One look ! — it is the last ; 
They meet no more — that family — 

Till earth with them has past. 
And there, in her paternal vale. 

Where knew she childhood's day, — 
Pillowed upon affection's arm, 

Her spirit passed away. 

'Tis sad, that hopes, the fairest, still 

Like visions, mock our ken ; 
'Tis sad that holy ties should be. 

As though they ne'er had been. 



CHILDREN OF THE PRECEDING. 103 

And yet, beyond the starry worlds 

Earth's love, refined, is known; 
And these fond hopes are but lost in 

Fruition of the throne. 

Weep not for her ! — eternally 

Have fled her tears and pain ; 
Weep not your loss ! — for such to die, 

What is it but to gain ? 
Rather live so that when we rise 

To meet Christ in the air, 
She'll see, in glory's coronet 

Arrayed, her loved ones there. 



CHILDREN OF THE PRECEDING. 

The mother, peacefully, had passed away, 
As quiet starlight gently fades away — 
Far from Earth's tears to bowers of sunny joy. 
Her infant languished with us here awhile. 
Wept for its parent, turned away and smiled, 
And gladly followed. One sweet girl was left — 
The mother's image. — 'Twas her pleasant task. 
With childhood's prattle, to beguile the grief 
That rested on her sire ; and she would climb 



104 CHILDREN OF THE PRECEDING. 

Upon his knee and look into his face, 
And ask for mother ; then would kiss away 
The tear that came, unbidden, at that word, — 
And he was comforted. 

On her sick bed 
She spake of her dear brother, — asking oft 
If she might see him ; — Yes, and when I die 
And go to heaven, wont /, dear Papa ? 
She said her hymn, and lisped her little prayer ; 
'Twas the last time — for ere another sun 
Sank down into the West, she sweetly sank 
Into His arms who said, their angels ever 
Behold his Father's face in heaven. 

And who, 
Thinking of such, — a mother and her babes. 
Safe gathered from life's evils, — free from sin — 
Dwelling with Jesus ; — who for such can mourn ? 



WILLIAM, HOWARD AND EUGENE. 105 



MISS AMELIA C , 

RETURNING TO NEW ENGLAND. 

You go, fair Amelia ! those regions to bless, 
Where the sun of your youth brightly shone ; 

Where affection bestowed the parental caress, 
Where childhood's dear visions were known. 

You go ! and fond pleasure illumes with its smile, 
Those eyes of sweet Sympathy's hue ; 

You go ! but what dream shall our bosoms beguile, 
Enchanted no longer by you 1 



WILLIAM, HOWARD AND EUGENE. 

Beautiful blossoms, as ye seemed, my boys ! 
And fragrant to the sense, sweet to the eye, 
Ye were for other regions, — and the sky — 
Balmy and healthful, redolent of joys, 
Where no sirocco comes nor storm annoys — 
Received ye. There, unfadingly, ye bloom. 
I need no figure. Your mortality — 



106 I SLEEP, BUT MY HEART WAKETH. 

Dropped, unreluctant, that ye might assume 

The g-arments woven for eternity. 
Heaven's raiment — ye have given unto the tomb. 

And now from sighs, for sighs e'en vexed ye, free. 

Your immortality has reached the better land. 
Where is no candle, yet is known no gloom ; 

And tears are wiped away by God's own hand. 



I SLEEP, BUT MY HEART WAKETH. 

Canticles^ v. 2. 

The Church is slumbering. She that once awoke 
And girded on her beautiful array. 
And went forth terribly, is idle ; yea. 
Is sleeping now. She thinks not how she broke 
Her dreamings once, and shook off the stern yoke 
Of Ignorance and Cruelty. The gloom 
Of night is on her — gone is that fair day. 

She is all lovely — is it for the tomb ! 

Will not the few sad watchers for her, pray 
That everlasting sleep be not her doom ? 

That in her silent chamber the strong ray 

Of Life, poured down, shall cause her to betake 
Herself to weeping for her once bright bloom ] — 

Church, that art slumbering, is thy heart awake ! 



NEW ENGLAND SKETCHES. 107 



NEW ENGLAND SKETCHES. 

With gracious boon, kind Providence has blest 
New England's clime with health, enjoyment's 

zest. 
Unscorched by torrid heat and sultry blast, 
The bracing North confirms her ruddy cast. 
The glow of Temperance marks her hardy race, 
And kindred morals own their honoured place. 
Her sons are generous, shrewd, and faithful too, 
Her daughters modest, fair, and ever true. 
Free as her clime, her equal laws are free, 
And here at least man bows no abject knee. 
The slave ship never can pollute her strand, 
The Negro's tear can never stain that land. 
Shame, gracious heaven ! that bondmen e'er should 

toil 
With withering curse, on Freedom's natal soil. 

Go, Retrospection ! and excursive soar 
Where numerous towns adorn the sea-girt shore. 
See clustering hamlets strew the verdant plains, 
And thriving cities, where rich Commerce reigns. 
But chiefly see, where near the spreading bay, 
The proud Metropolis extends its sway. 



108 NEW ENGLAND SKETCHES. 

See scattered round, a fair and goodly show, 
Far as the view, a paradise below. 
The smiling fields, the teeming- hill and dale, 
Twin mountains there, and here the humble vale. 
The village churches, and the city fane, 
The halls of Science on the smiling plain. 
The numerous villas by refinement reared. 
Abodes of taste, to elegance endeared. 
Fair Prospect-hill, with Bunker's awful steep, 
Where 'neath her altar Freedom's votaries sleep. 
The towering domes and lofty spires that rise, 
Whose portals lead immortals to the skies. 
The kindly roofs, where manners bland reside. 
And courteous ease, a city's boast and pride. 
Loved, generous homes ! where opulence combined 
With ready hearts, displays the feeling mind. 
The lofty pile, where Wisdom oft hath shone. 
And sapient Eloquence has reared her throne; 
The walk, whose elms a grateful shade disclose. 
The Common, wide, where Charles romantic flows ; 
The masted groves with whitened canvass spread, 
The lengthened piers, that rest in ocean's bed. 
All meet the sight, and crowding on the view, 
Fill the wrapt mind with pleasure ever new. 
Here all is seen to heighten or refine. 
And wealth and grandeur, skill with taste combine. 
Wide Hospitality extends her reign. 
And kindly feeling dwells in Virtue's train. 



NEW ENGLAND SKETCHES. 109 

Nor are her views where nature breathes delight, 
Less fraught with charms and pleasing to the sight. 
Fancy, full oft, in retrospect would stray 
Amid those scenes that saw young Childhood's day; 
With roving thought the favourite spot would view, 
Where 'mid content her earliest breath she drew; — 
Where youthful sports beguiled the heedless hours. 
And halcyon pleasure smiled through all her bow- 
Fond recollection decks the rural scene, [ers. 
Nor notes the blank that time has cast between. 

Where dark waved Merrimack expands its flood. 
Below its source the humble dwelling stood. 
The scene was fair, and sweet to fancy's view. 
Beneath the mountain's brow sequestered too. 
The moss grown rock, majestic, reared its head, 
And frowning darkly, deepening grandeur shed. 
The crystal stream, whose winding course betrayed 
Its silent current stealing 'mid the glade ; 
The beechen tree, the favourite spot well known, 
Where village sport had reared its simple throne ; 
Where oft at times and scenes when all was gay, 
Blithe pleasure reigned in rustic holiday. 
And oft when twilight's gleam had sunk afar, 
And in the west appeared the evening star. 
With minds serene, and labour all forgot. 
Each young companion sought the favourite spot. 



110 NEW ENGLAND SKETCHES. 

The leg-end, wild, with breathless awe to share, — 
The jocund song, or weep at tales of care. 

With rich content and humble quiet blest, 
No brooding- envy marred the hamlet's rest. 
No sound disturbed, save when the echoing stroke 
Amid the wild, the sturdy woodman spoke. 
Or when afar the distant rural bell 
Marked holy time, or sighed the passing knell. 
From village church, whose tall and reverend fane 
Rose o'er the vale, and gleamed across the plain. 

Hallowed the spot ! e'en now methinks I feel 
The holy dread that o'er each thought would steal 
At Sabbath morn, when mingling with the throng, 
I joined in heart and raised the sacred song. 
The vocal swell that poured the chant of love. 
The suppliant form, the prayer that rose above ; 
The warning voice when Sinai spake alarm, 
The strains of peace that whispered Calvary's 

balm, — 
All touched the heart, and drew the listening ear, 
The sigh was heard, and oft was seen the tear. 
The flock retired, but 'twas apart to pray. 
And meditation well employed the day. 

For me, the lonely walk possessed a charm, 
And pleasing solitude could care disarm. 



NEW ENGLAND SKETCHES. HI 

And oft I lingered near the burial ground, 
My favourite spot, where wrapt in thought profound, 
I wandered sadly 'neath the elm tree's shade, 
Where grassy hillocks told that life must fade. 
And oft I watched the mournful lengthening train 
In funeral state, pass slowly o'er the plain ; 
For Death's sure arrow found this calm abode. 
The man, the friend, the viewless valley trod. 
Around the grave the thoughtful rustics bend, 
And oft the prayer and holy hope ascend. 
The shepherd-pastor, sorrowing tears t' assuage, 
Speaks consolation from the sacred page ; 
Tells of the hopes which from that fountain spring ; 
How Jesus rose, and foiled the tyrant's sting ; 
How brief is time, how long the bright reward, 
And blessed are all that slumber in the Lord. 
The mourner weeps — but weeps in humble trust, 
And well resigned, commits the dust to dust. 

At twilight hour, the household train repair, 
Together join and meek instruction share. 
The catechist the youthful mind employs. 
And tells of Him who made and who destroys. 
The younger listen while the old explore. 
With reverence due, the page of sacred lore. 
In strains of Zion each devoutly blends. 
And now, with fervent prayer, the holy Sabbath 
ends. 



113 NEW ENGLAND SKETCHES. 

With zealous care the willing bard would tell 
Of simple customs once beloved so well. 
The hallowed day of sacred Fast, severe, 
To plead for blessings on the opening- year. 
Thanksgiving Day, the well known time of joy, 
When care was lost and hushed each rude employ ; 
When beaming bliss, and in their best array. 
The absent youth the annual visit pay. 
That morning, all arrayed with seemly care, 
They worship humbly in the house of prayer. 
At home, assembled round the groaning board, 
With nature's gifts and housewife's labours stored ; 
Duly arranged, from age to eager youth. 
They reverend stand, and crave with earnest truth 
A kindly blessing from the Fount of Love, 
Whose care, paternal, doth such act approve : 
And then, with keen, but temperate haste, they 

share 
The full repast, the yeoman's bounteous fare. 
The pleasant jest, the cheerful laugh go round ; 
The mutual wish with mutual hopes is crowned, 
For church and country, home and absent friends, 
And thanks for all that Heaven in mercy sends. 
The evening hour invites to sober joy, 
And varied sports that charm, but never cloy. 
The lively dance, with ancient, mystic game, 
W^here choice betrays the modest lover's flame ; 



113 



The ready wit, the mirth inspiring- song, 
With tales of old, the joyous scenes prolong; 
While youthful Love and Hymen oft delight 
To join the bridal with the festive night. 



CHANGES. 

I, a silly fly, 
That live or die, 
According as the weather falls. 

Oeorge Herbert. 

Ah, Lord ! thou seest how changing, still. 
Are these desires and hopes of mine ; 

How slowly turns my wayward will 
From Earth's unreal love, to Thine. 

Sometimes, I take the ready wing 

Of angels, and with lofty flight. 
Sail round the upper bowers, where sing 

To starry harps, the sons of light. 

Oh, then, how ravishing appears 

The dwelling of the spotless Blessed ! 

I gaze — and shed delicious tears. 
And long with them to be at rest. 
H 



114 CHANGES. 

All peaceful joys seem doubled then ; 

The world's behind, and all forgot 
The thousand dreams that flatter men ; 

Their thousand cares— I know them not ! 

Yet, soon, of pinions shorn, I fall 

Down, down, a dreary, dreadful way ; 

And round my soul is wrapt the pall 
That shuts out every gleam of day. 

Then Heaven seems parable, or far 
Far, far beyond my hopeless aim ; 

And dimmer than the faintest star. 

The beams that cluster round thy Name. 

My God ! I would no longer be 

Thus foolish, fickle, false and vain ; 

Oh, for the faith that soars to Thee, 
Nor sinks to weary Earth again ! 

1836. 



THE CHURCH. 115 



THE CHURCH. 



She rose, not only to pray, but to act, and from 
that time she has lengthened her cords, and strength- 
ened her stakes. More than four hundred of her 
missionaries are among- the heathen, and more than 
two hundred churches has she gathered in Pagan 
lands. You may hear God's praises in the western 
wilderness, in the islands of the Southern Sea, in 
Africa, in Ceylon, and in India, in Astrachan, and 
in Greenland. Hearken, my brethren, and you 
hear the Cherokee and Choctaw, the Hottentot and 
Hindu, the Greenlander and Otaheitian, all min- 
gling their praises unto Him that loved us, and 
washed us from our sins in His blood, and hath 
made us kings and priests unto God, and his Fa- 
ther ; unto Him be glory and dominion for ever 
and ever. — Edwards's Sermon. 

Yes, she has risen in her strength ; 

The Church ! the Church of God 
Puts on her robes and walks at length 

Where her great Captain trod. 
Her path is by the barren rock, 

Her path is through the sea ; 



116 THE CHURCH. 

He's in the desert with his flock, 
And in the deep, is He. 

I trace her in the lonely Ark ; 

In Abraham's stranger tent ; 
And in the upper chamber, where 

The Comforter was sent. 
And while her troublers and their deeds 

Pass on, and are entombed, 
I see her towering — ^by the fire 

Encompassed, not consumed. 

Through Persecution's martyr flame, 

Through famine, scathe and fears, 
Through foul reproach, and scorn and shame, 

And blood, and bitter tears — 
Still onward, onward, is her way ; 

In weakness waxing strong ; 
Her proud device, the Star of Day, 

And Victory her song. 

I see her toils, abroad, at home. 

From tropic to the pole, — 
Wherever swells a pagan dome. 

Or weeps a human soul. 
The temple crumbles at her might ; 

The soul to Christ is given; 
And where hung out the pall of night, 

Now cluster beams of heaven. 



THE CHURCH. 117 

With principalities she wars ; 

With Satan's leaguing powers ; 
She scales his heights and plants her foot 

Upon his tallest towers. 
And fall before her trumpets' blast 

The Dagons of renown ; 
And at her stern rebuke are cast 

The shrine and priesthood down. 

And not one banner of her train 

In slumber may be furled — 
Nor shall the sword return again 

Drawn out to free a world — 
Not till her empress step is found 

Where'er is found the ban ; 
Nor till her cohorts tread each ground 

Where lingers fallen man. 

As the small dust is to the globe, 

As rain drops to the sea — 
So is her glorious Past, to what 

Her Coming yet shall be ! 
Ask, and I'll give, saith God, for spoil 

The heathen to my Son ; 
Fruit of his travail and his toil. 

Conceived and dared and done. 



118 THE GRAVE. 



THE GRAVE. 

God, who giveth us the victory.— Pa u/. 

It is a thought of noble joy ; 

Grave ! where's thy terror now 1 
Thy reptile may these limbs destroy, 

Thy damps crowd on this brow — 
Yet is God's arm beneath my head, 
He holds the ashes of the dead. 

'Tis but his voice of love that calls ; 

How privileged to die, 
When mercy breaks these ruined walls 

And gently puts us by ! 
My God will lay this dust away, 
Spirit ! thou'lt find it in his day. 

Then crumble, flesh ! my soul, long pent. 

The prisoner of sin — 
Sees, joyfully, through every rent. 

New glories bursting in : 
He that spake out the world, is skilled 
This house in beauty to rebuild. 



TO THEE, DEAR VISION. 119 

Now unto me, oh sunlit tomb ! 

Thou dost inviting-s wear : 
For since the Conqueror pierced thy gloom 

Has victory sparkled there. 
Jesus has strewed thy couch of balm 
With Resurrection's holy charm. 



TO THEE, DEAR VISION, GENIUS OF 
THE LYRE ! 

To thee, dear Vision ! Genius of the lyre ! 
Thou blest Invisible, that fancy doth inspire, — 
Thou fair Unknown, that oft celestially 
Has cheered this bosom with thy minstrelsy ; 
To thee, that careless lov'st to roam among 
Elysian groves and carol Pleasure's song, — 
Soothing attendant of my lonely hours. 
That oft on tears has scattered balmy flowers, — 
To thee I wake the tributary lay, 
And o'er thy fairy haunts, with lingering step 
would stray. 

Thou knowest how sweet, how ever dear to me. 
The hallowed moments, given to bliss and thee ; 



120 TO THEE, DEAR VISION. 

How oft, when worn with toil, or vexed with care, 
To thee I've flown, and found a solace there. 
In thy soft murmurs have I sought relief, 
Then care seemed baseless, all disquiet brief; 
The minstrel woke, and inspiration stole 
With wavy breathing o'er his trembling soul ; 
And Memory strayed o'er bowers to childhood 
known, [its own. 

And still would smile and sigh o'er visions once 

Fancy with thee has climbed the sacred hill. 
Sought Sharon's shade, — by sweet Siloa's rill 
Pondered alone, and from the holy tomb 
Plucked the wild flower that buds in living bloom. 

Thanks, dear Inspirer ! love is well thy due ; 
'Tis all I have — 'tis much, for oh, 'tis true. 
A lowly meed, a humble lot is mine. 
Though still I offer at Contentment's shrine; 
And this is all — I wish not Riches' spoil, 
While thou remainest, sweet nymph ! companion 
of my toil. 



WHAT SHALL SATISFY THE MIND. 121 



WHAT SHALL SATISFY THE MIND 1 

When pleasure smiles with aspect g-ay, 

And bright alluring mien ; 
When joy emits its cloudless ray, 
While darkening storms seem far away, 

And all is bliss serene : 

When friendship cheers with sacred charm, 

And sympathy sincere; 
When circled in affection's arm, 
Whose glance can bitter griefs disarm, 

And smile dispel the tear ; 

When all that glittering wealth can boast. 

Or laureled fame bestow — 
Unites with Science' richer zest. 
To crown the favoured votary blest 

As man may be below : 

O say, whence is the secret care 

That rives without control ; 
That spurns each bliss as empty air. 
While racked, it feels, with keen despair. 

Vacuity of soul 1 



122 THE TOMB OF JESUS. 

Learn mortal ! — the expanding- mind, 

That essence from above, — 
Dread Emanation ! — is designed 
To feast on deathless joys^ refined. 
And drink eternal love. 



THE TOMB OF JESUS. 

The Mussulmans in Palestine have taken pos- 
session of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem; and the 
Abbe Forbin Janson has proceeded to Constanti- 
nople, to reclaim from -the Grand Seignor the keep- 
ing of the Tomb of Jesus. It produces an annual 
income of two hundred and sixty thousand dollars. 

On Shinar's plain where David's gem appeared, 
The star that walked yon bright serene alone, — 
Whose mystic ray the Bethlehem Shepherds 

cheered. 
While angel bands in blessed effulgence shone, 
With radiance flaming from the ethereal throne ; 
On Shinar's plain, where Siloa's fountains rise, 
Whose murmuring stream glides mournful now and 
The holy pilgrim from afar descries [lone, — 

The Tomb of Jesus, Lord Supreme of earth and 

skies. 



THE TOMB OF JESUS. 123 

'Twas there the Ancient of Eternal Day, 
The Son of God, slept in the borrowed grave ; 
He whose right arm, clothed with almighty sway, 
To countless worlds their form and being gave, 
When chaos reigned and shoreless was the wave. 
'Tis hallowed ground — proclaim it not ! — for there 
Is crime — Calvary's polluted by the Islam slave. 
A scathing curse for him will wrath prepare, 
And bolts in heaven for those who the base traffic 
share. 

O soon may Shiloh bless that fated land ! 

The mocking crescent there be seen no more ; 

The lawless wanderer and Arabia's band 

Forsake their prophet and the cross adore, 

While songs of joy resound on Jordan's shore. 

Soon may the banner of Immanuel wave 

On every height, and where the minarets soar. 

Nations confess that He who died to save, 

The blessed Messiah, lives and reigns for evermore. 

1818. 



124 



RELIGION AND RUM. 



RELIGION AND RUM. 

An old Turk, learning that we were Americans, 
inquired if it was true that we sent out Missionaries 
to convert the Mohammedans, in ships laden with 
wine and spirits ] — De Kay's Sketches of Turkey. 

The Christian flouts the turbaned Turk ; 

Why mocketh he at us 1 
He sendeth hither proud ships with 

A blessing and a curse. 

His spangled flag flings out its stars 

Most bravely on our seas : 
And we beneath those stripes may pray, 

Or traffic — as we please. 

Can the same wells of Araby 

Yield sweet and bitter too 1 
These dumb dogs, laugh they at our beards ? 

Great Allah ! but they do. 

" Ho ! come, and win the gems of Heaven !" 

Their dark-robed Mollahs cry ; 
Then shout their fellows — " We have Rum, 

And Brandies ; will ye buy ?" 



A TIME TO WEEP, A TIME TO REJOICE. 125 

" Kneel to Messiah ! yours are crowns ; 

Reject — naught's left but hell ;" 
" Here's fourth proof — real New England, sirs ; 

Try, for we want to sell !" 

Prophet ! how would these muftis smile, 

Should we to Christ incline ; 
Not less their joy if we exchange 

Good sequins for their wine. 

Houris ! be ours the precepts which 

Content the faithful Turk, 
Rather than creeds in which base gold 

Is ever found to lurk. 



A TIME TO WEEP— A TIME TO REJOICE. 

There is a time to weep. 

When dreams of earthly pleasure 
Are added to the heap 

Of faded, fruitless treasure : 
There is a time — how holy ! 

When weeping at Christ's door, 
The sick soul's melancholy 

He heals with Sin no more ! 



126 A TIME TO WEEP, A TIME TO REJOICE. 

A time when for distress 
His comfortings are given ; 

And for its nakedness, 
The garniture of heaven. 

There is a time of grief, 

When memory weeps in sorrow ; 
The heart, to find relief. 

Oblivion's draught would borrow : 
There is a time of sweetness, 

The soul, drawn out alone, 
Reviews its own unmeetness. 

And sighs before the throne : 
There is a time of love. 

The raptured heart ne'er feigneth, 
When, strengthened from above, 

It knows its Saviour reigneth. 

There is a time to mourn. 

When all is wild commotion ; 
And man discerns the bourne 

Of death's returnless ocean : 
There is a time of peace, — 

What though the lamp then wasteth! 
The spirit seeks release. 

And new-born vigour tasteth : 
There is a time of joy. 

When the pale visage alters. 



THE DEPARTED WIFE. 137 

When songs the lips employ, 
While yet the accent falters. 

There is a time of sadness, 

When nature doth decay ; 
Yet to the soul 'tis gladness. 

That longs to be away : 
There is a time when years 

The sand no longer numbers. 
When dewed with farewell tears 

The body coldly slumbers : 
There is a time of glory, 

When ransomed spirits sing, 
O Grave ! where is thy victory ? — 

O Death ! where is thy sting ? 



THE DEPARTED WIFE. 

And thou hast fled, fair spirit !— True, the boon 
Of thy perfections was too rich for earth : — 
Ye we lament that worth so rare, thus soon, 
Thus suddenly, is blighted.— Yes, the birth, 
So promising, of thy mild graces, proves 
For heaven. — The tomb conceals our fondest hope. 



138 THE DEPARTED WIFE. 

Yet in the heart's retirement, spirit ! thou 
Still liv'st. There contemplative fancy loves 
Still to behold thee — with the unbounded scope 
Of chastened love, there she beholds thee now. 

Thou livest; — Faith discerns thee 'mid the choir 
That minister above. — Thy robes of white. 
Emblem of the sweet purity that loved to reign 
Within thy bosom, tell that thou art one 
Of the celestial sisterhood, whose lyre 
Wakes the first song in heaven. The gems of light 
Sparkle around thee, while thou tread'st yon plain 
Of bliss, ineffable. O, who would shun 
The invitation to his place on high, 
Were it — like thee, to live — like thee, to die 1 
Thou'rt absent, mourned one ! — but memory will 
Embody thee, and in his vigils, oft, 
Shalt thou to thy bereaved, minister. 
And calm his midnight anguish. — In the dream 
Of tenderness shalt thou address him. Soft 
And soothing, gentle one ! will be the stir 
Of recollections in his widowed heart ; the theme 
Shall solace him, for all of loveliness 
That once adorned — spirit! adorns thee still. 
O, sweet to him that treads life's wilderness, 
A pilgrim mourner, drooping and alone — 
Sweet is thy cordial, Memory ! thou canst pour 
The balm of Gilead on the wounded. Thou 



THE OLD SOLDIER. 129 

Canst chase the chill drop from the sufferer's brow, 

And bid renew the endearments known before. 

Thou call'st thy vision — she, who late had flown. 

Returns again, and 'tis to heal the heart. 

And she is near, and now a balmy smile 

She g-ives to her beloved, and awhile 

He, happy, feels not the soul rankling dart. 

Peace to the dead ! — Beneath yon grassy mound. 
In slumber, thou reclinest ; and so deep, 
So calm and holy is thy rest, profound. 
We would not, dare not break, sweet one! thy sleep. 
There rest ! — and we will bid the wild flower grow 
Upon thee, and her green shall Summer throw 
Around thy bed. — Nor shall the wintry storm, 
Careering o'er thee, thy fair couch deform. 
There rest, till reeling Nature's cries disclose 
Hope's morn to them that peacefully repose. 



THE OLD SOLDIER. 

I MARKED him once, and that dim eye, 
Methought, could tell of hidden wo ; 

I saw no tear, I heard no sigh ; 

The sigh was hushed, no tear could flow. 



130 THE EUCHARIST. 

His form was decked in misery's garb, 
That idly mocked the storm's control ; 

His heart was torn — neglect's keen barb, 
With cruel fang, had pierced his soul. 

Yet no sad tale the soldier told, — 
His prayer, my country! was for thee; 

Meekly resigned, though basely sold 
To grief, contempt, and poverty. 

Yes, those that never met the foe, 

That never warmed with freedom's flame, 

Could bravely crush the warrior low. 
Could spurn the hoary veteran's claim. 

I saw the passing flood of years 
Bear him to some forgotten grave ; 

For him, affection had no tears, 
No sigh was given to the brave. 



THE EUCHARIST. 

Come to the Festival ! ye that are straying 
Far from your Father's house, faint and unfed; 

Here is suflSciency, — souls, thus obeying, 
Hunger no more for the perishing bread. 



THE EUCHARIST. 131 

Come to the Festival ! ye that have panted 
After the water brooks ; here is supply ; 

Streams in the wilderness Mercy has granted, — 
Those that have tasted them never can die. 

Come to the Festival ! ye that are broken — 

Leaving- the path in impiety trod ; 
Hope beckons cheerfully ; here is her token — 

Joy in the Spirit, forgiveness with God. 

Come to the Festival ! lingerers in sorrow. 
Sorer and sadder than heart can endure, — 

Balm from Earth's comforters seek not to borrow, 
Come where the Saviour is waiting to cure. 

Come, while the Angel is troubling the waters ; 

Others as helpless are now stepping in ; 
Free for the vilest of Guilt's sons and daughters, — 

Here may ye lose the defilement of sin. 

Kneel ! — Here is raiment for those that in sadness, 
Naked and homeless, have wandered forlorn ; 

Gems are here sparkling for foreheads of gladness, 
Clasped by the Giver whose own felt the thorn. 

Kneel ! — though in fearfulness, weak, yet believing, 
Think of the bosom that drank your despair, — 



132 THE UNHALLOWED GRAVE. 

And while in penitence memory is grieving, 
Lay all your tears and despondency there. 

Hark! o'er the Eucharist, music is stealing, 
Sweetly, in whispers of pardoning love ; 

Ye that here name Me, your covenant sealing. 
Gird for the banquet in temples above ! 



THE UNHALLOWED GRAVE. 

Suggested by some exculpatory stanzas, attributed 
to the pen of Mrs. Beauchamp, who, in the sum- 
mer of 1826, in Kentucky, committed suicide a 
short time previous to the execution of her hus- 
band for the murder of her former betrayer ; to 
which deed he was instigated by her unprinci- 
pled revenge. They were both young — were 
devoted to each other — and, according to their 
request, were buried in one coffin. 

Shall angel Pity plead above 

For crime unwept, nor thunders chide 

The bitter hate, the unholy love, 
That nerved the reckless Suicide ? 



THE UNHALLOWED GRAVE. 133 

Thou soul wrecked one ! — whose was the form 
Of beauty, matched with lofty mind — 

Yet, passion stirred, who woke the storm 
Of desolation to thy kind ; 

Erred'st thou! — Alas to err is ours, — 
Why sought'st thou not the Gilead near ? 

The blot that dims earth's guiltiest hours 
Is washed away by Sorrow's tear. 

Dishonoured ! — lost life's diadem ! — 
Yet Mercy, lingering nigh, is seen ; 

Heaven's coronal can boast no gem 
Brighter than griefs of Magdalen. 

Vengeance! — O God, shall mortals bare 
The arm, and Thy red terrors wield ? — 

Rouse Retribution from his lair. 
And to revenge, relentless, yield ? 

No, these rest not the lowly head 
Where innocence and peace do lie ; 

Nay, plant not flowers upon their bed, 
The rose would wither there and die. 

Yet where stern Passion's martyrs sleep. 
Now cleaving to unconscious clay, — 



134 THE PIRATE SHIP. 

Shall pure and pitying Woman weep ; 
'Tis not in her to turn away. 

Oh, her warm heart can never shun 
Thoughts, that these victims unto ill, 

These buried outcasts — lost — undone. 
Were fellow flesh, were human still. 



THE PIRATE SHIP. 

Midnight ! — On the quiet ocean 
Calmly sleeps the starry beam ; 

Steady is the barque's proud motion, 
Peaceful is the sailor's dream. 

Sailor, wake thee ! death is near, 
Wake thee from deceitful sleep ; 

Sailor ! ere the dawn appear. 
Thou shalt slumber in the deep. 

Lightly on the riven wave. 

Bounding swift, with murderous mien. 
Ploughing o'er its victim's grave, 

Lo, the Pirate Ship is seen ! 



THE PIRATE SHIP. 135 

Spawned from Guilt's infernal womb, 

Lurk around the savag-e crew ; 
On each brow, the fiend of gloom 

Stamps its seal, to horror true. 

Luxury of crime is theirs, 

Dead to feeling', as to fear ; 
Cruelty each bosom shares, 

Banqueting- on sorrow's tear. 

Gold their idol, to the g-od 

Nightly, fearful orgies rise ; 
Rites, accursed, steeped in blood, 

Mark the human sacrifice. 

Like a demon, ripe from hell. 

See the chieftain stalk apart ; 
Hark, his voice ! 'tis misery's knell, 

Pity never touched his heart. 

Dear to him is childhood's moan. 

Woman's shriek to him is bliss ; 
Mercy never fixed her throne 

In a bosom seared like this. 

Now with crime accursed mirth, 
Horrid laughter startles thee ; 



136 THOU SLEEPEST, GENTLE BOY. 

Drunk with blood, the stain of earth 
Join in fearful revelry. 

Sailor, wake thee ! death is near, 
Wake thee from deceitful sleep ; 

Sailor ! ere the dawn appear. 
Thou shalt slumber in the deep. 



THOU SLEEPEST, GENTLE BOY. 

Thou sleepest, gentle boy ! and thy green bed 

Is undisturbed. The dream of innocence 

Is thine, for thou, to the fond eye 

Of watchful love, bloomed'st not more gracefully 

In form, than in luxuriance of mind. 

Thou sleepest, gentle boy ! and leav'st a void 

In aching hearts. Ah, our sad thoughts will oft 

Dwell on the soothing retrospect of worth, 

Once thine, and in communion, sweet, 

Will we hold dalliance with thee, sainted one ! 

For thou art not far from us — thou wouldst not 

Leave those that dearly loved — that love thee still. 

Thou'rt near in vision, though ascended, where 

The robe of Immortality is wrought, jQkt 






DAYS DEPARTED. 137 

Thou stray'st in fields of fadeless verdure now, — ■ 
The flower thou gatherest knew not the blast. 
Thine is the clime, whose aromatic sweets, 
Excelling Araby, breathe genial gales 
To the entranced soul. Thrice happy thou, 
Young traveller ! We would not call thee back 
To this cold, comfortless sojourn. O no. 
Enfranchised one ! we ask not thy return. 
Thou hast departed, therefore we will weep, — 
Thou'st journeyed on, we linger still behind, 
Yet soon to follow — therefore we will weep 
No more, dear absent one ! but wait the car 
That shall convey us, longing, to thy arms. 



DAYS DEPARTED, WHITHER FLED ? 

Days departed ! whither fled 1 

Moments ! whither have ye gone 1 
Ye are mingled with the dead. 

Numbered, never to return : 
Time ! how swiftly, silently. 

Hast thou urged thy mystic flight 
To unknown eternity. 

To the whelming flood of night ! 



138 DAYS DEPARTED. 

Dying Year ! and is this all ? 

Shuts thy scene in chilling- gloom 1 
Yes, and Nature weaves her pall, 

Year, departing ! for thy tomb. 
Here shall sleep the shadowy fears, 

Here the triumphs of thy span ; 
Here shall slumber smiles and tears, 

Here the dreams of passing man. 

Schemes of bliss that rose awhile, 

Griefs that clouded life's career, 
Joys that dazzled to beguile, 

Crushed alike, ye perish here. 
Sleep they all 1 — shall none revive 1 

Year ! then where thy trophies, say 1 
What shall in thy annals live, — 

Live, when Time hath passed away? 

Shall the deaf 'ning battle shout. 

Urging on to victory ? 
Shall the victim's blood, poured out 

To the idol deity ] 
Furl thy banner, Glory ! furl it. 

Trophy of the slaughter ground ; 
Time, the conqueror, shall hurl it 

To Oblivion's dark profound. 

Stands the proud man's dwelling, reared 
On the wreck of poverty I 



1 



DAYS DEPARTED. 139 

Triumphs yet the oppressor, seared, 

Mocking tears of misery 1 
Yet the flame of Envy burneth, 

In that breast broods hateful vice ; 
Wretch accursed ! — sweet Mercy spurneth 

The cold heart of Avarice. 

Perish these — let none revive ! 

Year ! then where thy trophies, say ] 
What shall in thy annals live, — 

Live, when Time hath passed away ? 
Saw ye not Compassion's deed. 

When, to sooth a brother's moan, 
Pity flew to misery's need 1 — 

'Tis recorded near the throne ! 

Heard ye not the balmy voice, 

Grateful as the dew of heaven, — 
When a brother bade " rejoice !" 

" Sin no more, and be forgiven ]" 
Dying Year ! then not in vain, 

Meteor like, thou'st glided by ; 
Moments ! ye shall live again, 

Deeds of mercy never die. 



140 FRANCES. 



FRANCES. 

Yes, thou wast called, and who could save ! 

Cut down in morning's careless hour, 
We bear thee to an early grave. 

Earth bosoms not a lovelier flower. 
We weep, — how vain the bitter tear ! 

Lament, — how fruitless is the sigh ! 
O, shall we never learn that here 

The germs of promise bud to die 1 

Thou wast the hope of waning years. 

Valued, and friendship knows how well ; 
Beloved — alas, a mother's tears, 

A mother's love alone can tell. 
Who weeps not, when corruption takes 

Its slumber in the rayless tomb 1 
O, who shall weep, when beauty wakes, 

In gladness, to immortal bloom ! 

Shall loveliness, sweet girl ! like thine, 
Expand its beauties but to fade 1 

Speak, Frances ! say, at yonder shrine 
Thou minist'rest, a vestal maid : 



SAVED BY OUR INSTRUMENTALITY. 141 

The intellectual graces given, 

The mental charms that love excite, 

Can never die — exhaled to heaven, 
They glow, the quenchless gems of light. 

Farewell ! we ask, dear relics ! not 

The sculptured marble to adorn 
Thy grave, nor for the hallowed spot, 

The monument or lettered urn ; 
But while Decay feeds on thy brow. 

And damp and darkness linger there. 
Within the heart's retirement, thou 

Shalt live in form and graces fair. 



SAVED BY OUR INSTRUMENTALITY. 

If in some fair and jewelled crown 

That to the blest redeemed is given, 
Are stars that cast their brightness down. 

Loveliest among the gems of Heaven — 
It is the diadem he wears, 

Who woke and watched for souls below ; 
Striving to save, by tears and prayers. 

Immortals from immortal wo. 



142 SAVED BY OUR INSTRUMENTALITY. 

If, Stealing- on the angels' hymn, 

Come harmonies of softer wires, 
In tones, to ears of seraphim, 

Sweeter than their own silver lyres — 
It is when saved ones tell above 

Of him who came when hope had flown ; 
And pointed to a Saviour's love. 

And led the sinner to the throne. 

O, holy God ! while flies beyond 

Wide swelling seas, that Truth of Thee, 
Which melts down every slavish bond, 

And from dark idols wins the knee — 
Eng-age our youthful hearts, that long 

To labour in this holy strife ; 
And dearer boon than crown and song 

Is ours — Thy favour, which is Life. 



THE BIBLE SHIP. 143 



THE BIBLE SHIP. 



I beseech you, if you have influence among- the 
opulent Christians in America, to consider the 
practicability of a Bible ship, to navigate the 
shores of eastern Asia. If Science, and Discovery, 
and Luxury, and Commerce, have their ships 
sailing the ocean, and visiting every shore, why 
should it be thought strange that the Christian 
should also have his ship to convey to man the 
written mandate of his Maker — the message of 
mercy from the Saviour of the world 1 

The late Dr, Morrison, of China. 

Fling out our banners to the breeze ! 

Be every sail unfurled ! 
Our ship must cleave the farthest seas, 

And search the heathen world. 

Pipe up all hands ! — the boatswain's cry 

Rang never cheer like this ; 
We're off — we proudly rise on high, 

And stoop to the abyss. 

Speed on ! — We steer for lovely isles, 
Where lies of guilt the ban ; 



144 THE BIBLE SHIP. 

And sunny continents, where smiles 
Each gladsome thing, but man. 

And Africa, the clime of night, 

And shores by Chinese trod, 
Shall joy for us ; we bring true light — 

The priceless word of God. 

Speed on the King's discovery ship ! 

She seeks not vassal ground ; 
Nor scans the varying needle's dip — 

The lost, the lost is found ! 

Speed on ! speed on ! — a thousand sail 

Are flapping on the mast. 
For dark lands soon to breast the gale, 

God's Bible there to cast. 

Speed on ! speed on ! — the broad blue deeps 

Shall hastening heralds bear 
To every pagan coast, where weeps 

A soul in sin's despair. 

Oh God, to see their canvass speck 

Like birds, the distant seas ! 
Oh God, to see each noble deck 

Thronged by the feet of these ! 



THE BELL OF THE REVOLUTION. 145 



THE BELL OF THE REVOLUTION. 

On the old State House Bell, in Philadelphia, 
which was cast in that city, several years before 
the American Revolution, is the following pro- 
phetic inscription : " Proclaim liberty throughout 
all the land, unto all the inhabitants thereof." — 
Leviticus xxv. 10. The ringing of this bell gave 
the first intelligence of the signing of the Declara- 
tion of Independence. 

'TwAS fitting, that, throughout the land, 

The anointed bell proclaim 
The triumphs of a glorious band, 

And their invaders' shame : 
'Twas fitting, that its merry peal 

Should fling out silver tones. 
That did, before, the word reveal 

So terrible to thrones. 

Talk not of chance ! the word that went 

To Israel's tribes of yore. 
Free as the winds of heaven, was sent 

To this far western shore : 



146 THE BELL OF THE REVOLUTION. 

Our fathers spake it in distress — 

A small and feeble flock — 
They hymned it in the wilderness, 

And wrote it on the rock. 

Talk not of chance ! for well he knew, — 

The founder — that his art 
Graved only here the impress true, 

Already on the heart : 
And well he deemed that liberty 

Should one day wake the sword, — 
Around the hearths of all the Free 

It was a cherished word, 

Known, not in vain imaginings. 

To wake up idle strife ; 
But treasured as a holy thing. 

Dearer to heart than life. 
Marvel not then, the voice thus pent 

Within the conscious breast. 
At times, through some unguarded vent 

Should rush forth unrepressed. 

Interpreted, it truly told 

Of high Oppression's knell ; 

Of banners beckoning, garments rolled 
In blood — that warning Bell ! 



TO A NUN. ' 147 

Yea, also, that from martyr graves 

Columbia's living seed 
Should spring — the scourge of sceptred slaves, 

The bulw^ark of her need. 

Talk not of chance ! Not only here. 

Forth goes the unerring sound ; — 
It stirs another hemisphere, 

A v^orld shall be unbound ! 
And children, rescued from the yoke, 

Shall to their children tell 
Of the immortal deed that w^oke 

The Revolution's Bell. 



TO A NUN. 

The ceremonies attendant upon taking the Black 
Veil were recently performed at the Convent in 
Georgetown, when the vows that are to separate 
her from the world, were taken by a lady, who took 
the White Veil a year since. 

Thou seek'st a world of grief, to shun 

In yon seclusion, where 
The day is ended, as begun. 

With holy hymn and prayer : 



148 TO A NUN. 

'Tis well, the pageantry to flee, 
That years have empty shown ; 

The bosom is from tumult free. 
That beats for Heaven alone. 

Yet, deem'st thou consecrated walls 

Can shut out thoughts of sin ? 
Dead to the world's alluring calls. 

Hear' St thou no voice within 1 
Hath Fancy ne'er at vesper song, 

In haunts, forbidden, trod 1 — 
Yea, where thou kneel'st, do tears belong 

Wholly, unto thy God 1 

Buried within thy solitude. 

Unseen by mortal eye. 
Say not that ill cannot intrude. 

Nor folly ne'er be nigh : 
O, think ! — though painful be her heed. 

Who fears 'neath guilt to bow ; 
Dearer to God that well won meed. 

Than vestal robe or vow. 



THE LAST DRUNKARD. 149 



THE LAST DRUNKARD. 

He stood, the last — the last of all 

The g-hastly, guilty band, 
Whose clanking chain and cry of thrall 

Once rang throughout the land. 

Alone, he stood — the outcast wretch, 

Left only with his pain ; 
Of each boon friend, could memory fetch 

To thought, not one again. 

He stood — but where was now the host, 

The mighty giant throng, — 
That late in columns to the lost, 

Had moved with jibe and and song] 

The hoary, yet dishonoured head — 
And manhood's dark locks, where ? 

And Woman, too, by error led 
That broad way to despair 1 

Where were they all 1 — the sweeping blast 
Had burnt their life blood up ; 



150 THE LAST DRUNKARD. 

Health, reason, honour died, as past 
The simoom of the cup ! 

And he alone — alone ! sad glance 

Threw hurriedly around ; 
And earth and sky held mocking dance, 

And upward came a sound — 

A sound of mortal agony ; 

Upon his ear it fell ; 
A bitter and undreamed-of cry, 

With mingled laugh of hell. 

As if were centred in that yell 

All of the misery 
Which broken hearts can only tell, — 

Which God can only see. 

It calls him ! and, probation past, 
He shouts, " Ye Fiends ! I come — 

Open foul pit and take the last. 
The last doomed slave of Rum !" 



Miriam's song. 151 



MIRIAM'S SONG. 

And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel 
in her liand ; and Miriam answered them. Sing ye to the Lord, for 
he hatli trimnphed gloriously.— Ej^oc/. xv. 20, 21. 

Sing ye to Him whose wondrous power, 

Arrayed in viewless dread — 
Hath blighted the Egyptian's flower, 

And strewed his place with dead. 

Sing ye to him who walled the path. 

That ransomed Israel trod ; 
And brought again the billowy wrath. 

At his Almighty rod. 

Sing ye to Him who rode the cloud. 

And turned the night to day ; 
Who crushed the chariots of the proud ; 

Whose pillar led the way. 

Sing to the Lord ! whose arm alone 

Hath cleft the foaming sea ; 
The horse and rider overthrown, 

And set the captive free. 



152 THE CROWN OF THORNS. 



THE CROWN OF THORNS. 



There still exists a plant in Palestine, known 
among- botanists by the name of the Thorn of 
Christ, supposed to be the shrub which afforded 
the crown worn by the Saviour at his crucifixion. 
It has many small sharp prickles, well adapted to 
give pain, and as the leaves greatly resemble those 
of ivy, it is not improbable that the enemies of 
Messiah chose it, from its similarity to a plant 
with which Emperors and Generals were accus- 
tomed to be crowned ; and thence that there might 
be calumny, insult, and derision, meditated in the 
very act of punishment. — Dr. RusseWs Palestine. 

Glory prepared a wreath 
Of simple laurel for her favourite son ; 
And Beauty's spicy lips were wont to breathe 
His name, who at the Grecian games had won : 

Glory impearled the crown 
That rimmed the brows of Muscovy's great czar ; 
When on a new born empire he looked down 
From dazzling height, like some superior star : 



THE CROWN OF THORNS. 153 

Glory doth pluck the leaf 
For Learning's martyr, and her fond acclaim, 
He, pale with midnight toil, esteems the chief 
Of earthly good — and calls the bauble fame. 

But the mean diadem 
That tells of calumnies, insults, and scorns. 
Hath splendour dimming these, although no gem 
Be woven in the coronal of thorns. 

Sharp were its cruel points. 
That cinctured the blest forehead of the Christ, 
Forcing thence blood ; the crimson that anoints 
And heals — unction all-potent and unpriced ! 

Glory is His, O Crown ! 
Who wore thee meekly once — when from dark 

ways 
Of sin, the sinner fleeing, falleth down 
In lowly penitence, and weeps and prays. 

The men that platted thee 
For that sad coronation, in His blood 
Washed from their crime, confessed his Deity — 
Mysterious God in Man, the Man in God. 

Millions that knew him not. 
Since then, have had sweet knowledore of the cross : 



154 THE CHURCH IS THERE. 

He hath been found of them that sought him not; 
And they that sought, have deemed all else but 
loss. 

I, when some sore distress 
Racks this decaying body, do bethink 
Me of thee, painful, wondrous Crown ! and bless 
The cup, whose dregs I may not choose but drink. 



THE CHURCH IS THERE! 

That tossing vessel's silver wake, 

Thine eye discerns no more ; 
A storm has gathered on the lake, 

And sullen is its roar. 

Why sinks not the devoted bark 

Beneath that boiling sea 1 
Why o'er those men close not the dark 

Wild waves of Galilee 1 

The Church is there ! — He who doth keep 

Within his fists the wave. 
Doth rouse him, like the strong, from sleep, 

His followers to save. 



THE CHURCH IS THERE. 155 

Still breasts the bark the troublous gale ; 

She's on the flood of time ; 
How fearful is the tempest's wail ! 

How high the waters climb ! 

She's on the deep ; — though her beset 
Fierce storms that prowl the seas, 

There's One that never doth forget 
To lull them to a breeze. 

And ever as the winds increase, 

When nearest is despair, 
His voice cries through the thunders, "Peace!" 

The Church — the Church is there ! 

When mighty are the thralls of sin. 

And tall and strong is pride, 
'Tis safe with her to be shut in, 

And o'er the danger ride. 

Amid the sweep of whelming waves, 

Amid the tempest's stir, — 
Beneath His wings whose presence saves, 

May I be found with her ! 



156 



REV. A J . 

Thou wast brought down by sickness. In thy 

youth — 
In thy fresh vigour — in the midst of toil 
And usefuhiess, God touched thee. Racking pain 
And conflict, sharp, came on thee. We beheld 
Our leader taken from the wonted place 
Of holy ministering, and on the bed 
Of anguish cast, — yet, sweetly there to teach 
His flock, by patient willingness, to choose 
A Father's will. We felt in our deep need, 
Already shepherdless. We feared that thou 
No more unto thy gathered ones wouldst break 
The living Bread, nor lead them by the streams 
Of free salvation. But for thee^ we knew 
Our loss must needs be gain. We wept, we 

prayed. — 
The secret sigh of those whom thou hast led 
To Zion, brake forth for thee. The heart's cry, 
So deep, so powerful, went up for thee. 
God heard and answered ; and his strong rebuke 
Drove back the messenger that well nigh brought 
Thy feet to Jordan's swellings. 



TO THE MISSIONARY STUDENTS AT ANDOVER. 157 

Now, again, 
We meet thee at the altar, where we bow, 
A flock assured, and comforted and glad. 
And as we look upon thy wasted form. 
And pallid brow, and mark of that stern strife 
These tokens, — thoughts of gratitude to heaven 
Are blended with the prayer, that needful strength 
To serve thy Master longer, may be thine : 
And long thy purity of heart and life. 
That living comment on thy message — may 
Be given unto our gaze. For us, that we, 
Stricken, yet not destroyed — may rise and shine, 
A living church, a pillar of the Truth. 



TO THE MISSIONARY STUDENTS AT 
ANDOVER; 

On hearing of the death of Messrs. Munson and 
Lyman ; missionaries, killed by the natives in 
Sumatra. 

There's stillness in your halls — 
There's silence in your rooms — 

Lightly, the hushed step falls. 
As 'twere the place of tombs. 



[58 TO THE MISSIONARY STUDENTS AT ANDOVER. 

Ye scarcely of it speak — 

So mournful is the tale, — 
It clouds the brow ; the cheek 

Of cheerfulness is pale. 

So beautiful ! so young- ! — 

These blossoms of a day, 
In all their freshness flung 

Relentlessly away. 
Recall the word ! — for ever 

They, by a kindly One 
Transplanted are, where never 

Is hurtful shade or sun. 

Why lowers the manly brow 1 

Why pales the lip of youth 1 
Quail high resolvings now ] 

Fear ye the brunt for truth 1 
Wills not each noble heart 

Rather, to venture on 1 
With things, best loved, to part. 

And go, as these have gone ] 

Yes, that emotion spake 

Of holy courage given. 
When called, sweet bands to break, 

And yield up earth for heaven. 



TO THE MISSIONARY STUDENTS AT ANDOVER. 159 

It truly tells to us — 

Renewal of the tie 
To Christ, through such, or worse 

Your transit to the sky. 

So beautiful ! so young ! — 

And yet 'twas needful, when 
We fondly, vainly clung 

To loved, yet fading men. 
A thunder stroke has rent, 

Unwarned, our hopes away ; 
Now tearful eyes are bent 

On the Unshaken Stay. 

Go then ! — their purple tide 

Cries out " Revenge !" — for what ] 
For sin ! — though deep and wide 

The stain, ye may it blot. 
Yes, in a Saviour's blood, — 

And free, mysterious grace, 
By ye, may bring to God 

Sumatra's ruined race. 
1835. 



160 GOD OF JUDGMENT, ROUND THY THRONE. 



VERILY THOU ART A GOD THAT 
HIDEST THYSELF. 

God of judgment! round thy throne 

Terrors rear their awful seat ; 
Darkness is thy rest alone, 

Thunders dwell beneath thy feet. 
Creatures cannot stay thy power, 

Nor avert thy dreadful rod ; 
Creatures of a feeble hour, — 

Who shall dictate to a God ? 

Blessings, bounteous, spring- from thee, 

To thee sings a beauteous land ; 
Sorrows thicken, — Lord, we see 

These, commissioned by thy hand. 
Secrets, dreadful, vast, are thine. 

To a mystery we bow ; 
Angels, worms, attend thy shrine, 

Dread, inscrutable, art Thou ! 

Yet, though terrors, night and gloom 

Wait obedient on thy word. 
Though no cheering smiles illume, 

Still we trust a faithful God, — 



THE MEN OF PLYMOUTH. 161 



Still we rest upon the Rock, — 
Jesus, our unshaken Stay ; 

Even the weakest of his flock 
He will never cast away. 



THE MEN OF PLYMOUTH. 

ON RECEIVING FROM MY BROTHER A PIECE OF THE 
PLYMOUTH ROCK. 

For this, from granite cliffs that hem 
The Old Bay State, my brother ! thanks ; — 

I prize it more than curious gem, 
Or cluster from the coral banks ; 

It minds me of the love I knew 

In boyish days, and speaks of you. 

This fragment, from New England's shore. 

Of noble spirits telleth me ; 
I see them now ! — those men of yore — 

The elder sons of Liberty ! 
They tread this soil as once they trod, — 
Exiles for chainless Mind and God. 

These are the iron men that broke 

Ground, where the Indian's war fire curled ; 

L 



162 THE MEN OF PLYMOUTH. 

These spurned the princely, priestly yoke — 

These are the fathers of a world. 
O, men of God's own image, say ! 
Can glorious men thus pass away ! 

No, never ! — Send expansive sight 

From Labrador to Carib's sea — 
That vision, so sublime and bright, 

Of regions, teeming with the free, 
Shows but the influence of the men 
Who sought the sands of Plymouth then. 

A thousand spires that look above, 

A thousand towns where plenty reigns, — 

A people, knit by virtuous love. 

Who course those streams and till those plains,- 

We point to these, and proudly cry 

Can minds that wrought such doing, die ? 

No, never! — Each traditioned spot 

Tells where they wept, or sank to rest ; 

Yet were such silent, or forgot 

The place their pilgrim footsteps pressed — 

Their names should live, nor Time would mock 

The record of the Plymouth Rock. 



LAST WORDS OF CHRIST. 163 



LAST WORDS OF CHRIST. 

Last words of Christ 1 There are none such to him, 

Who has accepted Christ. Whate'er his lot may be, 

Whate'er his trials, toil, and sorrowing- 

On these low grounds where pilgrims stay awhile; 

He hears in all, the animating' voice 

Of the Redeemer, and it whispers him. 

Fear not ! for when thou passest through all these, 

I, even I, am with thee. Yea, in death, 

Amid the tumult of the body's pain. 

That voice is heard, telling- the sufferer 

Of comfortings and of supportings, through 

Jordan's cold waters ; and its mellow tones 

Linger until the last, then break in all 

The ravishing, exulting airs of heaven. 

Yet to the lost, there are indeed last words 
Of Christ. The lost will ever think on these. 
And in the ages of eternity 
Will sharpened recollection call them up — 
Depart ye cursed ! What last words are these 
To dwell upon for ever ! — ever to recall 
The melting, melancholy tones of pity, 
Mixed with severity of God, in which 
The Son of Man pronounced eternal wo ! 



164 EXHIBITION OF THE DEAF AND DUMB. 



EXHIBITION OF THE DEAF AND DUMB. 

The Deaf and Dumb ! — tell me what heart 
Of human mould, beats not with some 

Kind throb, in which heaven shares a part. 
Of feeling for the Deaf and Dumb 1 

The Deaf and Dumb ! we ask no voice 

Of winning Eloquence, to plead 
In their behalf, to bid rejoice 

These innocents with pity's meed. 

The Deaf and Dumb alone shall speak; 

In language that prompt nature knows. 
Shall bless you ; yea, while down the cheek 

Of tenderness the warm tear flows. 

Theirs is a voiceless phrase, unknown 

To grosser sense — the glad repeat 
Of cherubs, round the shining throne. 

Hymning their love, is not more sweet. 

The eye, through which the soul is seen, 

The bosom pulse of hope and fear, 
The lamp of love, whose ray, serene. 

Kindles communion, holy, dear. 



THE FATHER TO HIS GUILTY SON. 165 

Are theirs. — Sweet ones ! we pity not 

Your fate ; of bliss the real sum 
Is given to consecrate the lot 

Of Innocence, — the Deaf and Dumb ! 



THE FATHER TO HIS GUILTY SON. 

A young- man, for theft, was lately adjudged to 
the penitentiary for one year. During his trial he 
appeared careless and indifferent to his fate. After 
sentence was pronounced, his mother was permit- 
ted to speak to him. " My boy," said the old 
lady, " go to the penitentiary — serve out your time 
there — and when you return, I will receive you as 
a mother still." They separated. The boy was 
about to be conducted to jail, and the mother was 
going to her horse for the purpose of returning 
home. The thought of being thus torn from her 
child in disgrace, bore too hard on her aged breast, 
already worn with grief and enfeebled with care. 
She could no longer support the heavy load ; she 
tottered and fell. Her situation was seen, and 
many ran to her relief. But the mother's grief and 
affliction had ceased, — she had expired. The un- 



166 THE FATHER TO HIS GUILTY SON. 

happy father took his son aside and thus addressed 
him : " Behold, my son, the effects of guilt ! Your 
mother is no more, and I must now pursue what 
little remains of life's journey, stricken and alone." 
The boy was subdued ; his face, which before had 
the appearance of hardihood, was seen bathed in 
tears. 

Go ! though thou'st pierced the bosom now 

That nourished once thy frame, 
And bade with grief thy father bow, 

And given gray hairs to shame ; 
Yea, though the recompense of care 

Be tears and bitter ill, 
Yet thou art he, the child of prayer, 

My son — my loved one still. 

Go ! and in yonder silent cell 

Thy early lapse atone ; 
For him, the penitent, 'tis well, 

Who thinks and weeps alone. 
Thou art not, though a wanderer, far 

From hope of pardon free ; 
Even now, beams out salvation's star 

For thee, my son, for thee. 

Go ! though in years, and desolate, 
Thy sire pursues his way, 



TWENTY-SECOND OF FEBRUARY. 16' 

The God who smote me knows my state, 

And he will be my stay. 
For thee — when treading yon bright plain, 

Thy race, too, gladly run — 
The lost shall be restored again ; 

Woman ! behold thy son ! 



TWENTY-SECOND OF FEBRUARY. 

Rejoice ! the Spirits of the mighty Dead, 
Bending from bliss, bid you rejoice ! 

The awful shades of those that fought and bled, 
Require, this day, the heart and voice. 

Repeat their deeds, and bid your offspring know, 
When from her mountain Freedom calls, — 

The warrior deems him blest who meets the foe. 
And more than recompensed, who falls. 

Go, breathe His Name! that name, beloved so well ; 

Go tell his worth to Virtue dear ; — 
Let every heart with generous feeling swell, 

Let each, in silence, give the tear. 



168 SONG OF THE DRUNKARDS. 



SONG 

OF THE FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND DRUNKARDS IN THE 
UNITED STATES. 

We come ! we come ! with sad array, 

And in procession long, 
To join the army of the lost, — 

Five Hundred Thousand strong. 

Our banners, beckoning- on to death, 

Abroad, we have unrolled ; 
And Famine, Care and wan Despair 

Are seen upon their fold. 

Ye heard what music cheers us on, — 

The mother's cry that rang 
So wildly, and the babe that wailed 

Above the trumpet's clang. 

We've taken spoil ; and blighted joys 

And ruined homes are here : 
We've trampled on the throbbing heart, • 

And flouted sorrow's tear. 



SONG OF THE DRUNKARDS. 169 

We come ! we come ! — we've searched the land, 

The rich and poor are ours ; 
Enlisted from the shrines of God, 

From hovels and from towers. 

And who, or what, shall balk the brave 

That swear to drink and die 1 
What boots to such, man's muttered curse 

Or His that spans the sky ? 

Our Leader ! — who of all the chiefs, 

Warring for Glory's lust, — 
Can boast, like him, such deeds, such griefs, 

Such wounds, such trophies, curst? 

We come ! Of the world's scourges, who 

Like him have overthrown ] 
What wo had ever earth, like wo 

To his stern prowess known 1 

Onward ! though ever on our march 

Hang Misery's countless train ; 
Onward for hell — from rank to rank 

Pass we the cup again ! 

We come ! we come ! to fill our graves 

On which shall shine no star ; 
To glut the worm that never dies, — 

Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! 



170 NONE SAVED BY MY CARE. 



NONE SAVED BY MY CARE. 

The judgment day ! the judgment day ! 
When flaming worlds will haste away, — 
If mine it is that day to stand, 
A ransomed one, at thy right hand, — 

How could I gaze upon the throng, 
That wake on golden lyres the song, 
If none, that day, the rapture share, 
Led by my love and labour there 1 

While spirits, each to each, would tell 
Of weal and wo that here befell, 
Should I not, from the frowning throne, 
Wander in heaven, unblest, alone 1 

While life is lent, before that day 
Draws on, when toil is past away, 
Let me, well learned the heavenly road. 
Lead others the same path to God. 



APOSTROPHE. 171 



APOSTROPHE. 



Take wing-s, take wing-s, and seek the lost, 
The lost, guilt's weary, willing slave ; 

Where lies he, helpless, hopeless, tost, 
A wreck upon the sundering wave ; 

And seem to his despair the dove, 

Whose symbol types relief and love. 

Take wings, and seek the dreaming dead. 
The dead, o'er whom night holds misrule ; 

And, dipt in heaven, around them shed 
The splendours of the Sunday-school ; 

Whose glories, woven on the throne, 

Have burst, and streamed, and downward shone. 

Take wings, and fresh memorials bear 
Of by-gone men, whose feet were shod 

With truth ; whose spear and shield was prayer, 
Who fought and journeyed up to God ; 

And shrine, with more than victor's fame. 

The martyr missionary's name. 

Yet speedier, loftier, soar again, 
And fling abroad thy living light ; 



172 APOSTROPHE. 

And flood the flowering prairie's plain, 

And gild the wooded mountain's height ; 
Till rich redemption's glory shines 
On western wilds and eastern pines. 

Till, from the unforbidden tree 

Of knowledge, drops delicious fruit ; 

Where'er the curse hath had decree, 
Wherever roams the destitute ; 

On isles, that ocean's bosom gem, 

On continents, that fringe its hem. 

Take wings, take wings, a voice ! it comes 
From wanderers that once were blest 

With fair New England's Sabbath homes, 
A voice of pleading from the West ! 

Respond, O herald, to that cry. 

With tidings of deliverance nigh. 

Tidings ! — the feet of steadfast men, 
Are standing, in their beauty now. 

On field and plain and blossomed glen, 
And the rejoicing mountain's brow. 

Already have savannas rung 

With music of the lisper's tongue. 

Already, where their mossy nests 

The small birds build on branching limb, 



APOSTROPHE. 



173 



Unto the listening solitudes, 

Flows sweetly forth the children's hymn ; 
They lift to God the accepted strain, 
And give to Christ a new domain. 

The forest top's deep canopy, 

That shadowed, long, the wild beast's den ; 
And gave tall eyry to the fowl. 

Unknown to step of stranger men, — 
Now widely flings its roof of green. 
Where prayer and anthem rise between. 

Tidings ! Messiah here hath spoil, — 
Yet ampler, richer, shall be won ; 

For these unfainting sons of toil 

Have but one watchword, and 'tis On ! 

Till this broad land shall cultured be. 

From Alleghany to the Sea. 

Valley of the Mississippi, 1830. 



174 DESCENDANT OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS. 



TO THE DESCENDANT OF THE 
PILGRIM FATHERS. 

Thou boastest of a glorious stock, 

Of high ancestral fame, 
The Pilgrims of the Plymouth Rock — 

Old men of reverend name : 
Thou boastest of the proud race, sprung 

From loins, renowned as theirs, — 
That benisons are sown among 

These heritors of prayers. 

'Tis well — Yet some few centuries up. 

Trace thou thy fathers, nor 
Shrink, though they offered Woden's cup, 

And victims slew to Thor ! 
The mysteries of that Druid age. 

Stone altar — grove — dost learn 1 
What read'st thou on that pagan page 

That makes thy flushed cheek burn 1 

Look at our heathen — base as thou 

Dost that poor outcast hold. 
Heaven sees him not more abject now, 

Than was thy sire of old : 



FOR MY child's TESTAMENT. 175 

And He who quenched those fires that o'er 

The Briton's altar curled, 
Can gently bow the myriad hearts 

Of the dark idol world. 

Methinks that tears for his lorn lot, 

Relievings for his plea, 
Thou'lt give, when thou rememberest what 

Religion's wrought for thee : 
The noble plan to send its light 

To him, thou'lt not reject. 
Lest e'en the Anglo-Saxon's night 

Reprove thy deep neglect. 



FOR MY CHILD'S TESTAMENT. 

Every hour 
I read you, kills a sin, 
Or lets a virtue in 
To fight against it. 

Izaac Walton. 

Thou hast no treasure like to this, 

A staff below, a guide to bliss, 

A way so plain that none need miss. 

Without whose aid thou canst not die ; 

With which, thou'lt tread the upper sky. 



176 A RECENT LOSS. 

I counsel thee to dig this field, 
"Which fruit, a thousand fold, will yield : 
To toil in this unfailing mine, 
Where chrysolites and jewels shine : 
To draw from this fresh springing well, 
Whose living waters rise, and swell 
In streams, refreshing in the wild. 
Oh, love this Book of books, my Child ! 



A RECENT LOSS. 

Death sought a noble victim. Many he 
Had mowed before him in their manliness ; 
And many, who were loving and were loved, 
Bowed in their beauty to his tyranny. 
But now must fall unwonted comeliness ; 
And worth must pass away that well had proved 
It lived not to itself. To mourn the dead, 
Must Genius come, and Friendship must be grieved. 
The fatal arrow must God's house invade. 
And smite the Shepherd : yea, the flock, long led 
By the still waters, must be now bereaved. 
Society, a pillar must see laid 
In dust. Affection's truest tears must swell 
The victor's triumph — and he took Bedell. 
1834, 

1 



THE MINSTRELS OF JUDAH. 177 



THE MINSTRELS OF JUDAH HAVE 
GONE TO THEIR REST. 

The minstrels of Judah have gone to their rest ; 

The song and the tabret no longer are heard ; 
The watchmen of Zion, with slumber opprest, 

Repose on the walls where the Syrian appeared. 

And the beauty of Israel, forgotten, has fled, 
And darkness envelops Jerusalem now, — 

No night lamp illumines the place of the dead, 
Save the star that beams lonely on Olivet's brow. 

'Tis the Star of the Shepherd ! and long has it 
shone, 

"With the gems of the morning, on Galilee's plain; 
'Tis the herald of Bethlehem ! but pale and alone 

Is the purest and loveliest of night's silent train. 

Shall the herald of Bethlehem in sadness appear? 

The symbol no longer on Solyma shine ] 
Shall the Star of the Shepherd, once lovely and 
clear, 

Die away o'er the mountains of fair Palestine 1 

% M 



178 



Rejoice ! — ^for the Daughter of Judah, no more, 
Shall array in the sackcloth, O Zion, for thee ; 

Thy light has arisen ! from Egypt's dark shore, 
It shines in its strength to Gennesaret's Sea. 



VERSES, 

On hearing that the beautiful Mrs. had given 

her ornaments to the promotion of the Temper- 
ance cause. 

Chains for the neck of Beauty, 

Gems, richly wrought and rare, 
Rings, of the costly chased work, 

Which 'twas thy pride to wear — 
Thou pluckest from thy finger. 

Thou pluckest from thy brow ; 
To do it, thou'lt not linger, — 

The ruin rages now. 

Thou'st seen Destruction wasting 
The home where peace had dwelt, — 

Thou'st seen the unwritten sorrows, 
The broken heart has felt : 



179 



That grief needs not the telling ; 

The poet need not deck 
Woes of the drunkard's dwelling, — 

His fireside's hopeless wreck. 

A pencil dipt in hell, 

With characters of flame, 
Alone, may truly tell 

His present — future shame. 
Loss of this life's best pleasures — 

Bliss bartered for the bowl — 
Loss of the next life's treasures — 

Loss of the cheated soul* 

Gold to the crucible ! 

Rich gems for other's wear ! 
Thine are the ornaments 

Compassion deems so fair. 
With these, let wings be given 

To Truth's unerring light ; 
'Mid arabesques of heaven, 

What jewel is so bright! 



180 THE BIBLE SOCIETY. 



THE BIBLE SOCIETY. 

Christian brethren ! thus united, 

Banded by Religion's tie — 
Who to climes in sin benighted, 

Send the light that beams from high ; 
Ye have on the waters spread 

Seed unto Jehovah's praise, — 
Courage ! — ye shall find that bread, 

Gladly, after many days. 

Party, here, and faction's dream — 

Blights of concord — are not found ; 
Where the Bible is the theme. 

All is holy, equal ground. 
Charity each soul entwining. 

Kindred feeling walks abroad ; 
False distinction sacrificing 

At the altar of our God. 

Hear ye not the choir of voices 1 
Deeds of love in Heaven are known ; 

And the cherub, there, rejoices. 
Brighter burns the glorious throne. 



SONG FOR PAINE's BIRTHDAY. 181 

God of Bibles '.—Him we bless 

For this pillar on our way ; 
Cheerer through the wilderness, 

Symbol of the latter day, 

When the isles His law shall know, 

Mercy gild the pagan shore, — 
Blessings to the nations flow. 

Sin's dark billows rage no more. 
Onward, brethren ! thus united. 

Faith your patron, Christ your aim ; 
Onward ! and to climes benighted 

Spread the lustre of his Name. 



SONG, 

WRITTEN FOR THE CELEBRATION OF THE BIRTHDAY 
OF THOMAS PAINE. 

We laud him, yet 'tis not that such 

Burning lightnings were launched from his pen, 
To scorch old Britannia ; as much 

Has been done by as powerful men. 
We care not how wisely, or well. 

He wrote — whether foemen looked glum 



1S2 SONG FOR PAINe's BIRTHDAY. 

At his satire, or reckoned their knell 
Of defeat, in the roll of the drum. 

'Tis the same, if, securely, we boast 

Of immunity, purchased by blood, 
To laugh at Christianity's host, 

Or the phantom of devotees — God ! 
'Tis the same, if we've liberty, here, 

To scoff at eternity's thought ; 
At the notion of spirits to jeer. 

Save those which our landlord has brought. 

Him we laud, whose philosophy gave, 

Though religionists hate it like treason — 
The triumph o'er Bigotry's grave. 

The Age of Inquiry and Reason. 
Which teacheth, the end of our race, 

Oblivion — waiteth on all ; 
The noble, the good and the base ; 

The lofty, as well as the small. 

Had he only, in Politics' train. 

Daily laboured, our cause had been worse ; 
Ovation he ne'er should obtain, 

His name might have rotted, for us ! 
No song should this night tell his story ; 

No supper his memory should dub 
With honour ; no pledge to his glory 

Should be drunk by the Infidel Club. 



SONG FOR PAINe's BIRTHDAY. 183 

That our Chief was intemperate, let those 

Strong- impulses answer, that hold us ; 
Base, sordid, and sensual — his foes. 

And Cheetham, confound him ! have told us. 
That his heart was insensible to 

True friendship and love, they proclaim ; 
To deny it, were folly, — 'tis true ; 

Yet who may the patriot blame ? 

A drunkard he might be — he was ; 

We confess it — a low debauchee; 
Yet we may not scout him, because 

Some of us of like kidney may be. 
A toast, then, for him who could hush 

The thunders of Britain, afar ; 
Who strove, alas, vainly, to crush 

The shine of the Nazarene's Star ! 

They tell us, his sun set in night ; 

It faltered, as faltered his breath ; 
He shrieked in his fearful affright. 

When he felt the cold welcome of death, — 
And those who deem not, for the few, 

A world is created of bliss. 
As they gazed on the wretch, thought 'twas true, 

A hell might be kindled in this. 

We care not,— it cannot refute, 

Even though at the last he had shame — 



184 SONG FOR PAINe's BIRTHDAY. 

That unto proud man and the brute, 
The Jinale is one and the same. 

He might have been out of his head, — 
His biographer, sure, might deceive us,- 

How he ought to have gone to the dead, 
We tell, and the many believe us. 

His bones, to the fast anchored isle, 

Were sent by disciples, we know ; 
Had they left us a relic, we'd smile. 

Were it but from the thorax, or toe : 
Such gleaning of genius, divine. 

His skeleton never had missed ; 
At supper, when passes the wine, 

What a gem to be toasted and kissed ! 

Yet if here, we've no relic to show 

Of him, whom we honour as First, 
At least, we'll have jollity's flow, — 

'Twere a monument worthy his dust. 
Then here's to the patriot and sage ; — 

Boon friends ! fill the glasses again. 
To him, that created the Age 

Of Reason and Liberty, Paine ! 



THE TENDER SHEPHERD. 185 



THE TENDER SHEPHERD. 

There was a Shepherd, once, whose tender care 
Was ever o'er his flock. By night and day- 
He watched and guarded them. In pleasant pas- 
tures 
He led them carefully, and when they thirsted, 
He brought them to clear waters. Him, they loved 
To follow, and would fondly lick his hand, 
In sign of strong attachment. 

All, but one, — 
A sheep, that ever, frowardly, did rove, 
And heeded not the Shepherd. Kind allurements 
Were urged in vain, for she would have her will. 
And neither heard his voice nor followed him. 
Her master, seeing all endeavour vain. 
To win her from her wanderings, took her lamb. 
But, gently — in his arms, and went his way. 
Immediately, the sheep, submissive, followed. 

Mother ! that weepest for thy little babe, 
Taken, to win thy wayward step to Heaven — 
Say, Was the Shepherd cruel ? 



186 THE YOUNG CONVERT. 



THE YOUNG CONVERT. 

A COUPLE once, — the followers, in name, 
Of Him, who meekly bore our sin and shame, — 
Lived in our county. Decent, thrifty, they 
Were wedded to the world. No one could say 
They were not sober ; did not pay their dues ; 
Or alms to worthy Want would e'er refuse. 
At church, they always filled accustomed place, 
Hoping to gain some influence, if not grace. 
And thus they lived, as thousands live, whose care 
Is bent on earth, nor seeks to heaven in prayer. 
Content, if for this world 'twas theirs to thrive, 
Dead, thus to be, — in name, alone, alive. 
One son was theirs — a boy, that had fourteen 
Joyous, and bright, and thoughtless summers seen. 
Of generous impulse, open as the day, — 
The father's pride, the mother's future stay. 
Yet found not in the safe and narrow way. 
Till grace came down, in unexpected hour, 
And touched his bosom with resistless power; 
And bade him look upon his misspent time, 
Taken from Him, who asks the morning's prime ; 
And bade him see his young affections given 
To childish folly, — yea, to all, but Heaven. 



THE YOUNG CONVERT. 187 

Thought awoke. — A dreadful sound was in his ears; 
It told of stain, not to be washed by tears ; — 
Of debt, heaven's pitying angels could not pay, — 
Of guilt, hell's fires could never purge away. 
Looked he without"? — without, was blank despair; 
Within 1 — the Spirit's arrow quivered there. 
Alarmed, convicted, whither should he fly 1 — 
'Twas midnight — yet he felt the Omniscient eye 
Rest on his follies. On his sins now shone 
The searching beams of the discerning throne. 
He trembled — wept — and rose, and sought the room 
Where slept his parents. Troubled for his doom, 
He stood. His earnest knock roused them from 

sleep ; 
They heard him softly sigh, they heard him weep ; 
And, Father ! Mother ! rise — they heard him say, 
For my poor wretched soul, O rise and pray ! 
It took them by surprise. How could they ask 
Mercy, in prayer, to whom prayer was a task ? 
What knew they of the sickness of the soul. 
Who felt no need — who deemed that they were 

whole ? 
They waived his plea, and soothed the anxious boy, 
And urged to sleep, which should such thoughts 
Reluctant, yet obedient, back to bed [destroy. 
He went, yet not to rest, for rest had fled. 
Morn came — the day past on — no kindly word, 
Or how he fared, the youth, awakened, heard. 



188 THE duellist's honour. 

No father asked what sorrow moved his heart, 
No mother, had he sought the better part ? 
Unwatched, uncounselled, silently, he trod 
The house, that day, — left to himself and God. 
Buried in sleep, at night's hushed hour, once more, 
His parents lay. — A knock is at the door ! 
A voice ! — it is their child ! — ^but changed in tone, 
From sorrow's note, it seemed like pleasure's own. 
Once more they roused to hear their little son 
Weep at the door ; yet not, as late, undone. 
No tears of anguish, now ! With joy he cries. 
Rise, my dear father ! — rise, dear mother ! rise. 
And help me praise ! and higher praises sound — 
For I, this night, have a sweet Saviour found ! 



THE DUELLIST'S HONOUR. 

And what's that Honour, but a fiend. 
That lures with hateful guile ; 

Yea, by infernal custom screened. 
That murders with a smile 1 



A devil, that can laugh at ties 
Which kindred souls entwine ; 

By whose deceit, the victim dies. 
An offering at its shrine 1 



WINTER WOES. 189 

The griefs that rend the widow's breast, 

The tears of her despair, — 
The sigh that speaks the heart oppressed, 

The orphan's look of care — 

These are false Honour's triumphs ! these 

The trophies of its fame ; 
And such the envied laurel wreaths. 

That cluster round its name. 



WINTER WOES. 

The snow lies drearily upon the ground, 
The stream is frozen and the forest bare ; 

Long nights and short days tell 

That monarch Winter's come. 

I hear the voice of plaining. There are wo 
And want in yonder dwellings. Can I see 

Such misery and tears, 

Nor hasten to relieve ? 

Perhaps on yonder wretched bed, lies one. 
That once saw better days. He sat with men 

Of wealth, and drank their cup, 

And lived in Splendour's hall. 



190 WINTER WOES. 

The contrast that he makes, between his cot, 
And the proud dome that sheltered, once, his head- 

His luxuries and joys, 

And present poverty. 

Adds to his pangs. O, better can he bear 
The ills of want, who never other knew — 
Than can the fallen wretch. 
That once was Grandeur's child. 

Perhaps, in yon low rooms, abideth one, 
Who is a widow, desolate and poor. 

Her orphaned babes ! I seem 

To hear them cry for bread. 

The cold wind enters every crevice. She 
Sits lonely, weeping by her scanty fire. 

She shivers at the blast — 

Her heart is well nigh broke ! 

The snow lies drearily upon the ground, — 
I'll hasten to the man, reduced by want, — 

I'll seek the widow's door, 

And cause her to rejoice. 



THE EAGLE ON HIS MOUNTAIN HEIGHT. 191 



THE EAGLE ON HIS MOUNTAIN 
HEIGHT. 

The eagle on his mountain height, 

Beneath the eastern sky, — 
Securely views the source of light 

With bold and fearless eye. 

If, while thus lost in glory's blaze, 

He bends a downward view, 
Earth seems unto his distant gaze, 

Minute, and cheerless too. 

Thus, on the mount of faith and prayer, 

Jehovah's love is seen ; 
Sure vision, strengthened, gazes there, 

Without a veil between. 

Then dim is every joy, compared 

With bliss that never cloys ; 
And light the sorrows each has shared, 

Compared with heavenly joys. 



192 A MOTHER. 



A MOTHER. 

To be a Mother, is, for her, 

To taste of more delight. 
Than when the little traveller, 

Her babe — first met her sight. 
It is to welcome one to earth, 

That may hereafter shine 
With children of the second birth, 

In blessedness, divine. 

To be a Mother, is to know 

Much of enduring pain. 
Lest that sweet blossom, cherished so, 

May ne'er true life obtain. 
It is to bow in agony. 

And wet her couch with tears ; 
And send up broken sighs, and be 

Distressed with many fears. 

To be a Mother, is to trace. 

As Childhood's years revolve, — 

His path ; and still, when on his face. 
Sits Manhood's high resolve — 



A MOTHER. 

Still painfully, yet pleasingly, 

As fair he seems to sight — 
To guard and guide, unceasingly, 

His faltering steps aright. 

To be a Mother, for his ease. 

Is not now care to take ; — 
Yea, thou must bid him cross the seas. 

And toil for Jesus' sake ; — 
And bid him lay his strength and youth. 

And all that's pride of thine. 
Upon the altar of the truth, — 

The Missionary's shrine. 

To be a Mother, in this day 

Of Satan's constant loss. 
Is to send forth to glorious fray, 

A warrior of the Cross. 
It is, to be forgotten here ; 

Yet gaining honour, true. 
Such as the Roman matron, ne'er. 

Who bore the Gracchi — knew. 

To be a Christian mother, now. 

Is to prepare a gem 
To sparkle on the Saviour's brow, — 

First, in His diadem. 

N 



193 



194 HOLINESS TO THE LORD. 

A soul, that's in His blood made white, 
Transformed by sovereign grace, — 

And set, at last, with sons of light, 
Where God appoints a place. 

Oh blest ! — in holy hope, to rear 

A spirit for the skies, — 
Which, when the planets disappear. 

In excellence, shall rise. 
Oh blest ! — to see His face, that day, 

Which flesh can't see, and live, — 
And, Here am /, with gladness, say. 



HOLINESS TO THE LORD. 



In that day shall there be upon the bells of the horses, Holines 
unto the Lord. 

Zech. xiv. 20. 



Write on your garnered treasures, 
Write on your choicest pleasures. 
Upon things new and old. 
The precious stone and gold ; — 
On outward riches, write, — 
On bosomed riches, write, — 



HOLINESS TO THE LORD. 195 

Wife, husband, children, friends, 
On all that Goodness lends ; 
On altars where you kneel, 
Where Mercy doth reveal 
Herself: — On your good name, 
Upon your cherished fame : 
On every pleasant thing ; 
On stores that Heaven doth fling 
Into your basket — write ! 
Upon the smiles of God, 
Upon his scourging rod ; — 
Write on your inmost heart ; 
Write upon every part 
Of your mysterious frame, — 
To Him from whom it came, — 
To Him who claims the whole. 
Time, talent, body, soul ; — 
To whom small birds belong. 
And worlds that wheel in song, — 
Ocean and little rills. 
The everlasting hills ; — 
Whose shadowing wings, as well 
Fold heaven, as the broad hell ; 
Who moves the planets' dance. 
Who marks the blade's advance ; 
Whose coming stirs the dead ; — 
Write ! for it shall be read 



196 TO THE COMET. 

When finally expire 
Suns on their funeral pyre ; 
Write ! — In eternity 
The syllables shall be ; — 
Upon His footstool write ! 
Upon his throne, go, write 
Holiness to the Lord ! 



TO THE COMET. 

Curious stranger ! blaze of light ! 

Messenger of good or ill — 
Portent to the wondering sight, 

What behest dost thou fulfil ? 

Art thou Famine's fearful star 1 

Or shall Health's kind blessing cease 1 

Dost thou omen direful War 1 
Or confirm the notes of Peace 1 

Art thou missioned from above } 

Oh, celestial herald, say, — 
Dost thou bring the Morn of Love — 

Dost thou wake Millennial Day ! 



TO THE COMET. 197 

Could we thus, with rapture meet thee, 

Mystic traveller of the skies — 
How the world's full song would greet thee, 

How would stirring anthems rise ! 

Yet, though Wisdom has denied 

Us, thy errand here to tell, — 
Though thou mockest human pride, 

Yet we know that all is well. 

He that speaks in dreadful thunder, 

Throned in power above the sky- 
He, before whose viewless splendour, 
Blazing suns and comets die — 

He that bowls the orbs along. 
Guides the systems at his will, — 

Gives the morning stars their song, 
God — will guard his children still. 

Curious stranger ! urge thy flight ; 

Soon thy meteor reign is o'er, — 
While thou scarest ebon Night, 

We, admiring, God adore. 



198 WINTER RULES THE CLOSING YEAR. 



WINTER RULES THE CLOSING YEAR. 

Winter rules the closing year, 
See the grisly king appear ! 
Terrors thickening in his train, 
Snow, that mantles hill and plain ; 
Hoary frost with silver beam, 
Ice, congealing every stream. 
On the whirlwind of the sky. 
Fiercely, angry tempests fly ; 
Sleet, that gems the frozen ground, 
Stormy hail, that rattles round. 

Night has curtained o'er the skies, 
Home the lated traveller hies ; 
O'er the dreary landscape now. 
Horror broods with scowling brow. 
Now, within, securely warm, 
Man defies the pelting storm ; 
Heeds not blustering Winter's wrath. 
Safe around the social hearth ; 
Laughs, when sullen tempests roar, 
Rich in Autumn's gathered store. 
Blithe, the merry tale goes round. 
Dance, with music's jocund sound. 



SOUTH AMERICAN HYMN. 199 

Pleasure beams in every smile — 
Innocence, unknown to guile. 

Mortals ! thus supremely blessed, 
Let Compassion warm each breast. 
Pity, earliest child of Heaven, 
Pity, is to mortals given. 
Let her plead, nor plead in vain. 
For the heir of want and pain. 
From abundance, O restore 
To the Being, who will pour 
Richest treasures on the kind — 
Blessings on the liberal mind. 



SOUTH AMERICAN HYMN. 

Land of the Patriot! thy symbol adorns. 
With lustre serene, the horizon afar ; 

On the mantle of night, undiminished, it burns. 
And the dawning appears, long foretold by the 
star. 

Gem of the south ! thy pure glories display 
New charms to the nations that slumber in 
gloom ; 



200 SOUTH AMERICAN HYMN. 

As cheered with thy influence, and warmed by thy 
ray, 
They see thee shine out upon tyranny's tomb. 

When despoiled of her altar, fair Liberty left 
The land, whose dark rites did its lustre impair. 

On the pinions of hope, to thy free mountain cleft, 
She flew in her need, and discovered it there. 

Though wild was the havoc that crimsoned thy 
plain. 
And dimmed is the sceptre thy Genius had won. 
The Inca, descended, will sway it again. 

And Freedom shall shield thee, the child of the 
Sun! 

Land of the Patriot ! the halo revealed 

On the deeds of thy chiefs, shall with ages 
increase ; 
The temple of glory shall rise unconcealed, 

And hecatombs bleed on the altar of Peace. 



THE FOUNDERING BARQUE. 



201 



THE FOUNDERING BARQUE BY TEM- 
PESTS TOST. 

The foundering barque by tempests tost, 

Engulphed in ocean's foaming wave, — 
While clinging to the splintered mast. 

The sea-boy marks the billowy grave — 
O say, why beams that glance of wo 1 

While steals adown the stranger tear ? 
Is it for self, he sorrows 1 — No ! 

'Tis one afar, to memory dear ! 

While climbing o'er the shattered lee. 

The panting seamen, 'nighted, reel ; 
As rudely lashed by every sea. 

Each timber shivers to the keel, — 
Why falters, now, the accent low, 

That once each shipmate's heart could cheer'? 
Does danger stir his bosom 1 — No ! 

'Tis one afar, to memory dear ! 

When pitying Mercy calms the gale, 
And gently lulls the dreadful storm — 

While breezes press the stiffened sail. 
And hope revives, with fancy, warm — 



202 THE VISION. 

O say, why smiles the sea-boy so, 

As boatswain halloes — " port is near !" 

Is it for self he joys "? — Oh no, — 
'Tis one, in port, to memory dear ! 



THE VISION. 

I SAW the scroll — 
Its fearful length unfolding far beyond 
The ken of Angel. Eternity was there. 

The trumpets sounded, 
The golden harps attuned triumphant lays 
To Him who Was, who Is, and is To Come, 
Creation's King. When lo, the Seraph 
Whom first I saw — advancing, gave the sign. 
And Heaven's vast courts were still. With rapid 

strides 
Approached the monarch, hoar, unwearied Time; 
To him, the chief, he trembling, yielded up 
His dread account : The Seraph raised the signet, 
Jehovah's Manual, and on the parchment was 

imprest 
Another Year ! — Again the trumpets sounded ; 
The tuneful harps, again, lent melody. 
And swelled on high the blessed, the sacred song. 



MISS AFONG MOY. 203 



TO THE CHINESE LADY, 

MISS AFONG MOY. 

I MARVEL at thy curious mien, 
Thy strang-e, fantastic air ; 

And yet with us there may be seen 
Some Belles, as proudly fair ! 

I marvel at thy accent, too. 

That tells a far-off land ; 
And ponder, as I scan thy shoe. 

How thou canst walk, or stand. 

Thine oriental boudoir, is 
To wondering eyes, a feast ; 

Though not a real pagoda, 'tis 
A Chinese hall, at least. 

Descendant of an ancient line 
That higher looks than Eve, — 

Sprung from a root almost divine, 
Or quite, as some believe ! — 

I think with interest on thee. 
Thy foreign speech and birth, 



204 MISS AFONG MOY. 

Remembering God of one blood made 
The kindreds of the earth. 

Yet more — I think how lately we, 
With prejudice, had hemmed 

Thy nation, and how easily 
Its millions had condemned 

To ignorance, and utter gloom, 

And superstition's thrall ; 
And deemed thy empire but a tomb, 

As soulless as its wall. 

'Till we were better taught ; and since 

A Morrison has toiled. 
And he, of mission-men, the prince — 

Gutzlaff, the error foiled — 

And we have seen that on its night, 
So hopeless and so long, — 

Have fallen sparkles of the light, 
That to the skies belong; 

We cherish the exalted faith, 
Life bursting from the dead — 

That China quickly shall be one 
In Christ, the living Head. 



TO A HALF BLOWN LILY. 205 



TO A HALF BLOWN LILY. 

Lovely blossom ! welcome here, 
Floweret, that I love so well ; 

Fairest of the gay parterre, 
Lily of the silver bell ! 

In the low sequestered dale, 

Sheltered from the mountain storm, 
Sweetest of the sylvan vale, 

Spring unfolds thy slender form. 

Lovelier, thou, of spotless hue, 
Shrinking from the gaze of light. 

Than the rose which loves to shew 
Conscious beauty to the sight. 

In retirement still concealed, 

Type of modesty art thou ; 
To the graces, half revealed. 

We, delighted, willing bow. 

Bloom, O bloom, thou lovely flower ! 

Fairest of the laughing dell ; 
Queen of Flora's native bower, 

Lily of the silver bell ! 



206 GAZE THOU UPON A FALLEN WORLD. 



BOOKS FOR CHINA. 

I LATELY saw, cased up, of those same books, 

A library ; — valued are they, and sought 
Of all our Sabbath-schools. I love their looks ; 

So queried for what children they were bought, 
Or whither they would go ? The lad replied 

" To China." At his words I wondered then : 
To China ! — 'tis but lately we should chide 

The fancy that durst stretch so bold a ken. 
Yet knowledge must increase, and God has made 

A highway into Sinim. To her need 
Shall Sunday-schools be given ; — in the shade 

Of her great wall, her sons will sit, and read 
The winning page, whose precepts lead above; 
And they will love the truths our children love. 



GAZE THOU UPON A FALLEN WORLD. 

Gaze thou upon a fallen world. 

Of God's once glorious work a part ; 

O'er which his cloud of wrath is curled. 
And let thine eyes affect thy heart : 



GAZE THOU UPON A FALLEN WORLD. 207 

A world where all have deeply sinned, 
Where flows the curse for rebel man, 

From Arctic to the burning Ind : 
From Greenland to Japan. 

Earth, that from the Eternal's hand 

Came forth so fair, what is she now 1 
Survey her scath from land to land. 

Yet of the ruin ask not thou ; 
'Tis seen in unforgiving- eyes 

That tell of baleful fires within ; 
'Tis seen, where her fierce nations rise 

To battle, that 'tis Sin. 

'Tis heard in every secret sigh 

That tells of sorrow ; and the breath 
That falters ; and the earnest cry 

That heralds the approach of death. 
'Tis written on his faded face 

Who, childless, to the grave has gone ; 
Its bitter triumphs, thou mayst trace 

On every churchyard stone. 

And where are they that should have wept, 

In agony, for mortal wo ? 
Deem they the last command has slept. 

Spoke eighteen hundred years ago ? 



208 GAZE THOU UPON A FALLEN WORLD. 

Deem they, it were enough to keep 
Eternity, themselves, in view — 

And suffer million minds to sleep 
The same dark journey through? 

Wake such ! and weep the shadow thrown 

Across a world that should be light ; 
Wake such ! and ask that from the throne 

Some glancing beam may chase the night : 
That boundless ocean, hill and plain 

Inheritance for Christ may be ; 
And for his travail, tears, and pain — 

The universal knee. 

And wake 7ny spirit I — W^hat dost thou 

For his possession, sunk in guilt, 
That in its blood is lying now. 

Yet bought by that on Calvary spilt? 
Labour and pray ! — Believe this earth 

Yet beautiful in tears and dust — 
Shall spring forth to a second birth, 

Nobler than at the first. 



THE PETITION. 209 



THE PETITION. 

Four things which are not in thy treasury, 
I lay before thee, Lord, with tliis petition : — 

My nothingness, my wants, 

My sins, and ray contrition ! 

Southey. 

First Cause ! The Good ! Almighty ! Thou ! 

The Dread, Mysterious, Alone ! 
The Rightful King, the Wondrous Now ! 

The Past, the Future, the Unknown 

Thou art ! — Thou ! the formless years 

Of an eternity are Thine ; 
Thy Essence, One, Triune, appears — 

All time, all space, with Thee combine. 

Though terrors shroud, O Thou ! thy way, 
Though thunders dwell beneath thy feet, 

Thy glory beams, with kindly ray, 
Around the blessed Mercy seat. 

Help me, O Thou ! — 'tis Thou, alone. 
Canst touch my lips with living fire ; 
o 



210 THE LORD SHALL GATHER JERUSALEM. 

Though frail, I would approach thy throne ; 
Though dust, would reach an angel's lyre. 

Yet help me, Sovereign ! and control 
Thy subject's wish and thought to Thee; 

And O, accept the contrite soul — 
The offering dear to Deity. 



THE LORD SHALL GATHER 
JERUSALEM. 

Lo, Judah's courts in sadness mourn, 

For Judah's rites are stained ; 
Her shrines with idol incense burn. 

Her altars are profaned. 
Her temple's pride is cast abroad, 

Her priests and virgins fled ; 
And gone the glory of the Lord, 

That once was o'er her shed. 

The thistle blooms where Zion's wall 

Defied the Assyrian band ; 
And Salem totters to her fall, 

The scorn of Edom's land. 



THE FLAG OF THE CROSS. 211 

Yet, saith the Lord, my mig-hty arm 

Shall raise her ruins high ; 
My veng-eance shall the foes disarm, 

Who Israel's God deny. 

From distant lands and nations, where 

The tribes in bondage roam, 
They shall return — forget despair, 

And shout the ransomed home. 
In Zion, on my solemn day, 

With songs shall they adore ; 
And tears and sighs will flee away, 

And sorrow be no more. 



THE FLAG OF THE CROSS. 

Beneath thy folds. Flag of the Cross ! 

The gallant vessels trimly go ; 
Joy at the helm — delay or loss 

Such heavenly voyage may never know. 

The ships of Tarshish, trooping first. 

As clouds, and homeward doves, are seen : 

The leaping Hebrew treads the dust 
Of long lost, lovely Palestine. 



212 THE FLAG OF THE CROSS. 

I see thee waving- from the prow, 
Where mission feet in beauty are ; 

To sin sick nations bearing now 

The healing beams of Bethlehem's Star. 

A thousand, thousand masts display 
To wondering realms, thy sacred sign ; 

I see it stream o'er sea and bay, 
From either Arctic to the Line. 

I see thee float, where ensigns, curst, 
Had beckoned on to cruel strife, — 

And rusting swords and tumults, hushed. 
Tell only of the Prince of Life. 

Foes tremble, as, from tower to tower, 
They mark thy glorious signal fly ; 

Saints upward look — they know the hour 
Of their redemption draweth nigh. 

Oh God, that hour speed on ! speed on ! 

When sin's tall wave shall wildly toss 
Thy church no more — when, conflict done, 

She'll sing of victory 'neath the Cross. 



THE WALK FROM BUFFALO. 213 



THE WALK FROM BUFFALO. 

All waste ! no sign of life : 

No moon, no stars,— 

But behold, a fire ! 

Thalaba the Destroijer. 



'Tis sweet to hear a brook, 'tis sweet 

To hear the Sabbath bell ; 
'Tis sweet to hear them both at once. 

Deep in a woody dell. 

S. T. Coleridge. 



I WALKED out, once, from Buffalo ; 

'Twas on a Sunday noon, — 
My friend and I — intending to 

Come back by rise of moon. 

I walked out on a Sunday — not 

To scorn my Maker's rule ; 
But holy time to keep, and see 

A village Sunday-school. 

The winds were silent, and the Lake 

Lay tranquil to the eye ; 
The sky was bright, the glad fields wore 

The livery of July. 



214 THE WALK FROM BUFFALO. 

I had with me a pleasant guide ; 

And we had pleasant talk, 
About the things that lawfully 

May cheer a Sunday walk. 

About that early Sabbath, when 
The spheres their first notes rang ; 

And o'er the new and joyous earth, 
The stars of morning sang. 

About the blessed Sabbath, which 

Brought Life to Death again ; 
When Christ passed through the prison's door, 

Where He, three days had lain. 

And of the better Sabbath, lit 

By no terrestrial sun ; 
W^hose temple is the upper Heaven ; 

Whose worshippers are one. 

And thus we talked, and thus we walked 
Four miles, and something more ; 

And my friend stopt, and bade me look 
Along the sloping shore, 

And see the houses clustering. 

Like white doves, on a hill ; 
The tall hotel, the modest church, 

And farther on, the mill ; 



THE WALK FROM BUFFALO. 215 

The gardens and their whitened pales, 

The farms that lay without ; 
The cows, that idly chewed the cud. 

The lambs, that frisked about. 

It was a very pleasant sight ; 

New York has many such ; 
It was a very pleasant sight ; 

My heart was gladdened, much. 

I praised my Maker inwardly ; 

For all of goodness, is 
His work. Dear Lord ! the city's wealth, 

The villages are His. 

It is a pleasant sight, my friend 

Quoth, sadly, unto me ; 
But ill is there, as presently 

I will relate to thee. 

It is a very gracious sight, — 

An outward goodly show ; 
But much unquietness is there. 

As thou, my friend, shalt know. 

Thou seest yonder steeple shine ; 

It marks the house of God ; 
'Tis His, and yet by worshippers, 

Its portals are not trod ! 



316 THE WALK FROM BUFFALO. 

The voice of music is not heard, 

In rising sweetness, there ; 
Nor is the knee, within its doors, 

Bowed lowly down in prayer. 

The man of God is heard not, now. 
Who there would plead with Heaven ; 

Nor pleads he there, with erring men, 
To seek their sin forgiven. 

The babe is never, at that fount, 

Presented, to be laved 
In water, token of the bath 

By which it may be saved. 

The followers of Christ may ne'er 

Sit at the simple board. 
Where they, in tears of faith, behold 

Their slain and risen Lord. 

The Holy Ghost, with wings, outspread, 

As at the Pentecost, — 
Spreads out no wing of mercy there. 

To save and shield the lost. 

It is a fountain, shut and sealed ; 

And desolation dwells. 
Where healing streams once issued from 

Salvation's living wells. 



THE WALK FROM BUFFALO. 217 

And whence such fearful doom 1 said I ; 

Its cause, pray tell to me ; 
My friend replied, few steps remain, 

I'll tell it unto thee. 

In prayer, we laid the corner stone ; 

In hope, we raised the wall ; 
And joyed to think that here should some 

Obey the Gospel's call. 

The house was done, the house by prayer 

Was dedicated, then 
We looked for one that faithfully 

God's Bread should break to men. 

A shepherd, that would watch for souls, 

Most kindly, yet most bold ; 
And likewise caring for the lambs 

That bleat about the fold. 

It was a Christian minister, 

God sent us, and he came 
To break the Bread of Life, and teach 

In his dear Master's name. 

A shepherd, that would watch for men, 

And kind he was, yet bold ; 
And likewise cared he for the lambs 

That bleat about the fold. 



218 THE WALK FROM BUFFALO. 

And, sweetly, from his lips, the words 

Of healing mercy went ; 
And warning, — for his soul was stirred, 

And he was truly sent. 

And early taught he — late, he taught. 

As one that loved his toil ; 
As one whose blessed head was oft 

Anointed with fresh oil. 

His flock, as cedars of the Lord, 
Flourished beneath his care ; 

And o'er the tender plants, he watched, 
And wept in earnest prayer. 

The Sunday-school, beneath his eye. 

Grew like a pleasant vine ; 
And many of its precious ones 

Did unto Christ incline. 

He comforted the sin sick child. 

Who wept for hurt within ; 
And showed the trembling penitent, 

The Gilead for its sin. 

And when some, from the bed of death. 
Were called, and could not stay. 

They faltered out sweet prayers, that God 
Would bless his toil alway. 



THE WALK FROM BUFFALO. 219 

You weep, said I, and I, perforce, 

Keep down my rising- pain : 
I will proceed, and for your sake, 

Said he, my tears refrain. 

I will proceed, and tell to thee. 

How soon, this fruitful field, 
The devil entered, but to sow 

What only tares doth yield. 

First, Christians leaned to indolence, 

They went to hear the word ; 
But leaving- prayer behind, 'twas naught 

But Criticism heard. 

Then faction rose, and jealousy. 

And secret whisperings came ; 
And serpent Slander set his tooth 

To blight our pastor's name. 

The sinner waxed in unbelief. 

And brother hardened brother ; 
And met reproof by scoffing- — see ! 

How Christians love each other. 

Our minister, in secret, wept, — 

That this dear church, again 
Might rise, a Pill-ar of the Truth — 

But wept and strove in vain. 



220 THE WALK FROM BUFFALO. 

He left us. And with him, the last 

Glad hope, our village left : 
And since, we've lain beneath the curse 

Of those, of grace bereft. 

The ways of Zion mourn with us ; 

None to her feasts will go ; 
And scoffers, stumbling at the church, 

Go down, in crowds, to wo. 

The temple's light withdrawn — the shrine 

At home, is also dim; 
Few secret prayers, few praises rise 

From families, to Him. 

One only ray — one little star, 

Gleams sweetly out, to cheer 
Our hearts — the Sunday-school remains ! 

The Sunday-school is here ! 

Our children had, on Sunday-school, 
Strongly, their young love placed ; 

It lives, and thrives — an oasis, 
Upon this desert waste ! 

The mother left the house of God ; 

The father Him forgot ; 
But, praise to Christ! though they did slight 

His love, the youth did not. 



THE WALK FROM BUFFALO. 221 

The children would not be denied, — 

The Sunday-school was theirs ! 
And they must go and learn their hymns, 

And join their simple prayers. 

If erring- mothers might cast off, 

Religion's priceless gem, 
They felt its worth, and this to lose, 

Might never do for thern. 

If sires no longer sought to God, 

In yonder house of prayer, 
Dear Lord ! the greater was the need 

That these. Thy grace should share. 

So every Sabbath, there, they met ; — 
Thou seest the schoolhouse near ; 

Denied God's house, that humble place 
To them, indeed, was dear. 

Soon, one by one, the mothers came. 

To see what 'twas about ; 
The tasks and hymns ; — the fathers too ; — 

A few came there to flout. 

And presently, the place was filled 

With old, and blooming young ; 
And when the teachers prayed, all prayed, 

Sung, when the children sung. 



Tffa THE WALK FROM BUFFALO. 

Yet 'twas not worship! so they said, — 

They could not well agree 
To meet with God, upon His Day, 

In Christian harmony. 

And still they met — and still they meet; 

And much of sad misrule 
Has fled, since parents, with the child. 

Go up to Sunday-school. 

I've told my tale : Come ! dry your eyes ; 

Your eyes are almost dim — 
And go with me, and see the school ; — 

I hear the children's hymn. 

The children's hymn ! — 'twas sweet to hear, 
The wide oped windows through ; 

I wept again, — for with the tones 
Strong voices mingled too. 

We entered. — 'Twas a blessed scene ! 

The room was crowded, quite ; 
And each fair cherub face had on 

A look of sweet delight. 

Delight, that in their hymn to God 

Each heart could here agree ; 
Delight, because they loved their school ; 

'Twas a blest company ! 



THE WALK FROM BUFFALO. 223 

The serious parents knelt around ; 

In midst, the children knelt ; 
I knelt with them, and as I prayed, 

His gracious presence felt. 

Prayer ended, some few words I spake 

For God, and did entreat. 
As one, whom they should see no more, 

Till at the judgment seat, — 

And counselled, that their only strife, 
Henceforth, for Heaven should be ; 

A numerous church, yet one, and keep 
The bonds of unity. 

And faltering grew my speech, till words 

My tears to me denied ; 
I bade farewell, for I must seek 

Ohio's silver tide. 

Next morn, on Erie's billow borne, 

I traced my western way ; 
Yet pondered on that Sunday-school ; 

That Star which tokened day. 

And when in toils engaged — the thought 

Of parents, mingling there. 
With children, in sweet worship, caused 

Involuntary prayer, 



224 THE WALK FROM BUFFALO. 

That soon, His House, no longer sealed 

By Discord's dreadful sin. 
Again, might lift its doors, and let 

The King of Glory in ! 

Oh, wondrous grace ! The glorious King 

Came shortly down, to see 
If any wept and vowed, henceforth, 

They would His servants be. 

To me, the heavenly tidings came — 

My spirit did rejoice. 
That those dear wanderers had returned, 

Called by a Sovereign Voice. 

And in His House, long desolate, 
Now glad, once more, for Him — 

Again was heard the solemn prayer, 
Again, the holy hymn. 

And thus it was : The Sunday-school, 

By child and parent trod, — 
Each Sabbath, opened was to them. 

Though shut the House of God. 

And there they met ; and soon the hymn, 
And soon the prayer had power. 

To stir up kindly thoughts, and then 
It was a blessed hour ! 



THE WALK FROM BUFFALO. 225 

It was a blessed hour ! for soon 

The Holy Ghost, like dew, 
Came gently down, and youthful hearts 

Were formed in Christ, anew. 

And children wept for sin, and gave 

Themselves to Christ, away ; 
The parents ! — how could tkeij do less, 

Than weep, repent, and pray 1 

It was a joyful season !— Broke 

For aye, was sin's misrule ; 
All mingled tears, and thanks, for grace 

Shown to the Sunday-school. 

It was a Christian minister, 

God sent to them again ; 
He spake the truth in tenderness, — 

His work was not in vain. 

The flock were humbled, — much they wept, 

And wondered for the grace 
Thus shown to them, that willingly 

Had shunned their Shepherd's face. 

And round the blessed messenger 

They gathered in their love ; 
And He who binds the broken heart — 

The Everlasting Dove — 
P 



326 THE WALK FROM BUFFALO. 

Came down with healing in his wing; 

To Christ his people were 
United, as unto the vine, 

The clustering branches are. 

And now, God's House, no longer sealed 

By Discord's dreadful sin, 
Did lift its spacious doors, to let 

The King of Glory in ! 

I often think of Buffalo, 

And of m}'^ Sunday walk ; 
My pious friend, — his holy zeal, — 

Our profitable talk, — 

And of the pleasant village, saved 

From Satan's dire misrule ; 
And of God's instrument therein — 

His chosen Sunday-school. 



FALL ON US AND HIDE US. 22' 



FALL ON US AND HIDE US. 

When the great Captains and the Mighty men 
Wail at the Judgment, and, to shun the ken 
Of searching Justice, call on rocks aloud — 
Yea, when earth's conquerors, the tall and proud, 
Shrink from His coming, and, as mountains quake, 
Their prayer to them in agony do make, — 
Whence is the terror 1 Wherefore quail these 

tremblers 1 
Whose scorching glances shun the scared dis- 
semblers 1 
Is it for Him who spake on Sinai 1 — Fear 
The guilty men, those guarding lightnings here ? 
No ! — Thought dwells not upon Jehovah now ; 
They heed not kindlings of the Father's brow ; 
Too well they know, the anger that shall damn 
To outer darkness— cowief A /rom the Lamh I 



228 MORTIMER BROCKWAY AND HENRY BOND. 



MORTIMER BROCKWAY AND HENRY 
BOND. 

Just thirteen years, to day, our Son ! 

It is, since that which gave thee birth, — 
And thou, a little helpless one 

Opened thine eyes on this fair earth. 
And tall and comely now thou art, 

And many a rising hope have we 
That all the fond parental heart 

Can ask of good, 'twill find in thee. 
And thou, our Second ! the twin boy, 

Left early by thy brother here, — 
Perhaps for this, a different joy 

Prompts, when we gaze on thee, the tear. 
In thy eleven summers past, 

Thou'st been a pleasant child, and thus. 
Like a sweet bird of song, hast cast 

The melody of peace round us. 
The morning wish, for both — the prayer 

That mingles with our good-night kiss. 
Rise, that in better worlds ye'll share 

The joys, that tarry not with this. 



229 



Linked in your loves, life's chequered way 
We deem, will be in safety trod, 

If, resting on a moveless Stay, 
Ye sons of ours, are Sons of God ! 

January 26, 1836. 



TAHITI. 

A vessel, laden with New England Rum, saileth 
for the Georgian Islands, where abide Mission- 
aries. One of the crew beguileth the night watch 
with a song of cheerfulness. 

Merrily foams the dark blue sea, 

As hasten we along ; 
Merrily beams the boundless heaven, 

Whose stars discourse in song. 

Cape Horn ! we're doubling now thy front 

Of tempests — now, in pride. 
Upon Pacific's gentle breast. 

Behold our good ship ride ! 

Our Ship — the breeze hath filled her wings ; 
Storms have locked up their stores ; — 



230 



And luck betided, since she left 
The bold New England shores. 

Merrily o'er the dark blue sea ! 

For fairy isles, that sleep 
In beauty, on the placid wave — 

The jewels of the deep. 

Tahiti ! — we praise men that bowed 

The missionary knee ; — 
Men, that long- years, watched, warned and wept, 

And prayed and toiled for thee. 

Why fainted they on thy stern soil 1 — 
Why found they there a tomb 1 — 

'Tis seen in rising marts, where now 
The fruits of Commerce bloom. 

Their honest purpose smoothed our path ; 

They heralded our way : 
They've sown the seed, and we will reap 

Rich harvest, while we may. 

Merrily sail we ! — let good men 

Labour to ease the curse, — 
Our alchymy transmutes their toil 

To ingots for the purse. 



NEW year's colloquy. 231 

Merrily sail we ! — laud to Him 

Who holds the world, we're free ; — 

What's the world for, but to yield forth 
Its gold, to such as we ! 

Merrily sail they ! — and the Fiend 

Laughs loud and long, as come 
Men, Men ! to drench these lovely isles 

In HelVs last potion, RUM. 



NEW YEAR'S COLLOQUY. 

1 ASKED the New Year as it came. 
Why here dost will to be ? 
And it said — 'mid shouts that named its name, 
To minister to thee. 

W^hy comest thou with weal and wo. 
Alternate hope and fear ] — 

To give to weary man, below, 

The smile and frequent tear. 

'I'hou wilt restore the absent friend 
Affain to my glad heart? — 

Yet I all pleasant ties will rend, 

And the joined for ever part. 



232 NEW year's colloquy. 

Why wilt thou deck the bridal bed 
Of youth and beauty's bloom 1 — 

That I the thoughtless pair may wed 

Unto the dreary tomb. 

Why wilt thou please the mother's eyes 
With her infant's thousand charms ] — 

To bear unto the faithful skies 

The treasure of her arms. 

Into the lap why wilt thou fling 
Hoards of uncounted gold 1 — 

To give the wretch, ere long, the sting 

Of hopes to poverty sold. 

Why to Ambition's silly few 

Wilt thou sing the song of fame 1 — 

To show of the bubbles men pursue, 

The emptiest is a name. 

Why comest thou with hymns of cheer ]- 
I come, too, with my woes ; 
Voices that welcome the New Year, 
Shall be silent at its close. 

O, why embark upon thy tide. 
Earth's millions, without dread 1 — 

That in their laughter they may glide, 

Unconscious, to the dead. 



JUDGMENT SEPARATION. 233 

Why wilt thou haste to mingle in 
Eternity's wide sea? — 

That I one day may show his sin, 

Who asketh now of me. 



JUDGMENT SEPARATION. 

O Christ ! to think how bitter must 

The separation be, 
When one, beloved, is hidden where 

Earth lies so heavily ! 

Where, in its coffin, in the clay, 
The corse congeals to stone ; 

Or, silently, the livid flesh 
Is dropping from the bone. 

And yet such banishment, where vile 
Corruption broods, as 'twill, — 

Where the once beaming form reclines. 
So wan, and cold, and still — 

h mirth — compared with parting, when 
From presence of Thy face — 

Pass the lost nations, bound unto 
Their fearful chosen place ! 



•234 SHALL HE UNBAR THE GATES OF DEATH. 



SHALL HE UNBAR THE GATES OF 
DEATH. 

Shall he unbar the gates of death, 

And walk in renovated bloom, 
Who now, deprived of quickening breath, 

Sleeps in the quiet of the tomb 1 

Shall he revive to dawning light. 
Who, lowly, seeks his bed in clay ; 

Burst the corroding bands of night, — 

Whom the dull worm hath made its prey 1 

Shall he regard the vernal suns 
That bid the lily deck his grave — 

Or from his last cold resting place 

Start, while the wintry tempests rave 1 

Cease mortal ! cease the idle strife, 
Of precedence and boasted power ; 

Cease ! till these add to fleeting life. 
Till these retard the final hour. 



TRIUMPHATE. 235 



TRIUMPHATE ! 



FOR THE MISSIONARIES OF THE CROSS, WHO HAVE 
LAID DOWN THEIR LIVES IN HEATHEN LANDS. 



We give Thee hearty thanks for the good examples of all those, 
Thy servants, who, having tinislied their course in faith, do now 
I'tst from their \iiho\n-s.—Coin))ion Prayer. 



Though rude the path they trod, 
They've journeyed up, O God, 

Safely to Thee. 
Thou g-ivest them a seat 
With Elders at thy feet, — 
What can their bliss complete 1 

Eternity ! 

Before Thee, who cast down 
Green palm and starry crown, 

With joy like these ? 



What is past peril now 

What is Death's sharpness now 1 

Their martyr hymn peals now 

As sound of seas ! 



236 TRIUMPHATE. 

Shall plague and pagan spear, 
The widow's, orphan's tear, 

Our hearts appal 1 
The prison, rod, and chain, 
Day's toil and nights of pain. 
To that immortal train 

What are they all ! 

Who's girded for the race T 
Who freely takes their place % 

Tell us ! O tell ! 
Who'll labour, faint and die? — 
Perish, to reign on high "? — 
Speak 1 — for these wait reply — 

Heaven, Earth and Hell. 

The Church's chivalry 
Cry, Saviour, here are we ! 

Beneath Thy wing 
Folded, though weak, we're strong — 
Though slain, to us belong 
Victories — to lutes the song 

We'll give, Great King ! 



MARKED THE CALM MOMENT. 237 



I MARKED THE CALM MOMENT. 

1 MARKED the calm moment when, slowly descend- 
ing, [rest,— 
The Sun, robed in splendour, sank down to its 
\V hile the pale lingering- ray, with the night shadow 
blending, 
Still mantled above, in the beautiful West. 

I sighed — but methought that in glory appearing, 
Those beams will return and new lustre display; 

Again will illume, and the horizon cheering. 
Appear in the pride and effulgence of Day. 

I saw the companion in beauty late blooming, 
The roses had withered that once flourished fair ; 

Those lips, late so lovely, the clay hue assuming, 
Were sealed up in death, yet a smile lingered 
there. 

I wept — but Faith said, at the latter day dawning, 
Affection again will its counterpart see ; 

This smile is the prescience of that holy morning, 
Which calls my companion, pure, sinless and 
free. 



238 VISION OF THE HEBREW. 



VISION OF THE HEBREW. 

Habakkuk iii. 3—10. 

The Eternal God from Teman came, 

The Holy one from Paran, clothed in might. 

His glory shone with everlasting flame — 
His brightness, beaming with effulgent light. 
Dispersed afar the shades of night. 

Before him went the pestilential train, 
And burning coals were scattered in his path ; 
He stood and measured earth's domain — 
He touched the hills — the hills were rent in 
He saw, and drove his enemies in wrath, [twain; 
The mountains fled, the hills, perpetual, bowed, 
And quivering nature sought oblivion's shroud ! 

I saw the tents of Cushan mourn — 

Proud Midian trembled, of her glory shorn ; 

The nations melted when Thou didst appear ! 
The waters past, majestically, by; — 
The deep was heard, — his hands were lifted high. 

Thine arrows gleamed, and with thy shining- 
spear, [nigh. 
Thou walk'dst, God ! to bring thy vengeance 



IN JUDAH, NOW, THE MINSTREl's LYRE. 239 



IN JUDAH, NOW, THE MINSTREL'S 
LYRE. 

In Judah, now, the minstrel's lyre 

Is hushed, for mirth has w^ng-ed its flight ; 

In Zion's courts, the holy fire 

Is quenched, and sorrow veils the nig-ht. 

No sound disturbs thee, Solyma ! 

Save some disciple's lowly moan — 
No lamp illumes yon vaulted way. 

Save one pale orb that burns alone. 

'Tis Bethlehem's Star ! the holy gem 
That hailed the Godhead from the skies ; 

'Tis Bethlehem's Star — the diadem 
That tells the Conqueror shall rise. 

He rises ! and the golden choir 

Of angel minstrels, wakes the song ; 

He rises — mortals ! catch the fire, 
And strains of ecstasy prolong. 



•240 



AMANDA. 

My pretty one ! thou hast about my heart 
Twined thyself, closely, with thy little ways. 
And much that heart doth love thee, whose brief 
days 
But fourteen months comprise. My daughter ! 

part 
Of every thought — my care, my joy, thou art. 
As, oft times, I upon thy future look, 

Desiring to spell out thy destiny 
Written by Heaven in its sealed book, — 

What hopes, w^hat dreams, what wishes come 
to me! 
What smiles ! what tears ! — The Shepherd, that 
once took 
Unto his bosom, nurslings, like to thee, 
And kindly blessed them — in life's pathway, 
wild, 
Lead thee by quiet waters ; and with crook 

And friendly staff, comfort and keep my Child ! 

January 9th, 1836. 



THE FLOWER. 241 



THE FLOWER. 

A Hindu, after spending some years in seclusion, 
and in endeavouring to obtain the mastery over his 
passions, came to a mission station, where he thus 
accosted the missionary : " I have a flower, a pre- 
cious flower, to present as an offering ; but as yet 
I have found no one worthy to receive it." Hear- 
ing of the love of Christ, he said, " I will oflfer my 
flower to Christ, for he is worthy to receive it." 
This flower was his heart. Jesus accepted it, and 
after a short time transplanted it to bloom in the 
borders of Eden. 

The Hindu said, " I have a flower 
Of the morning's earliest bloom ; 

A flower for grateful offering, 
I'll give it — but to whom? 

I have looked on Beauty's glorious smile, 

And thought to nestle it there ; 
But while I gazed, her loveliness 

Faded into thin air. 

I have looked on Greatness, but with him 
My flower could ne'er abide ; 



242 THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL TEACHER. 

Within his cold and stately halls 
The blossom would have died. 

I stole a glance at Pleasure's seat, 
And searched within its bower ; 

But in its poisonous air dwells not 
The gentle virgin flower. 

Fearing the world, I give it thee, 
O Christ, to bloom above ; 

Take thou and hide my timid flower 
Within thy bosom's love !" 

Not long for Earth — upon its sweets 
Heaven bent approving eyes ; 

And soon was seen this lovely germ 
Blossoming in the skies. 



THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL TEACHER. 

Could angel choirs demand of Earth 

A theme to gratulate the throne, 
Nobler than young creation's birth, 

Sweeter than Heaven's wide vault hath known,- 



THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL TEACHER. 243 

Could the redeemed lay by their palms, 
And cast their glittering honours down ; 

To take a robe of lovelier charms, 
To wear a brighter, fairer crown : 

The theme is found — 'tis Charity ; 

'Tis Charity, Jehovah's theme ! 
Woven the robe — eternity 

Shall brighten and reflect its beam. 
Blest is the man, whose mite is given. 

To feed God's poor — though small the boon. 
Shall his reward be lost ] — yon heaven 

With heaven's tall throne, shall sink as soon. 

Yet more exalted he, who shares 

The unwearied Teacher's holy toil. 
Who plants the seed, whose daily prayers. 

Whose midnight tears refresh the soil. 
Yea, higher shall his seat be found. 

Who makes these chosen lambs his care ; 
Richer the gems that gird him round, 

The tear of pity will be there. 



244 HEATHEN CONVERTS. 



VISITS OF THE HEATHEN CONVERTS 
TO CHRISTENDOM DANGEROUS. 

It was urg-ed, at the late annual meeting of the 
American Board, that a visit to this country by the 
Converted Heathen would be unfavourable to 
themselves ; because there is so much of wicked- 
ness manifest here, that they would have less re- 
spect for Christianity than when they left their 
native shores. — Conn. Observer. 

We hear of a lovely land beyond 

Our sunny Indian isles, 
Where the bright and perfect blessedness 

Of the Sinless ever smiles : 
Oh Earth ! of thy glad garden spots, 

None surely is so blessed 
As the Missionaries' native home, 

Embosomed in the West. 

Thence holy men came o'er the deep. 

And soft-eyed Woman came, 
With errand to our shores of Him 

Whose is the hallowed name. 



HEATHEN CONVERTS. 245 

That lovely land is surely heaven, 

Of pearl, its cities are, — 
And its dwellers, shining angel ones 

That wait and worship there. 



O stay ye in your Bengal bowers, 

And stay ye in Ceylon ; 
The distant view is beautiful, — 

Approach, and it is flown. 
There's darkness over Burmah broods. 

The Hindu's chain is fast. 
But there's sadder than the pagan night, 

And stronger bands than Caste. 

The favoured nations on whom rest 

Beams of the Crucified, 
Are they that bow them down to gold. 

And wrap them in their pride. 
If fearful be the trump that wakes 

The heathen world to loss — 
What speechless doom bides them that day 

Who perish at the Cross ! 



246 THE CHEROKEE WORSHIPPER. 



THE CHEROKEE WORSHIPPER. 

" She had her Matthew, Acts, and Hymn Book, 
very carefully wrapped in a new handkerchief. 
Before the exercises commenced, she would care- 
fully unfold the handkerchief, read a verse or two 
in the Book of Life, then carefully fold up the 
books and press them to her breast, while tears of 
gratitude for the invaluable treasure, bedewed her 
sable cheeks." 

Beyond the Father of the Floods, 

By Christian pity sent — 
To lure the pagan from his gods, 

The Christian teacher went. 

He taught the Indian, by the brook. 

Of a bright eternity ; 
He taught in the wilds from Heaven's Book, 

And glad was the Cherokee. 

And with the worshippers knelt one 

Who lowly bowed her head. 
As if observing eyes to shun. 

And tears of joy she shed. 



THE CHEROKEE WORSHIPPER. 247 

And she undid her handkerchief, 

And as she read of Him 
Who walked Judea once in grief, 

Though Lord of cherubim — 

And bowed him to the fatal tree. 

And drank the cup of gall, 
And bore the bitter pang, that she 

Might be released from thrall — 

Tears filled her eyes — the gushing flood 

Of sorrow, you might see. 
That it should cost such precious blood 

To save the Cherokee. 

And while the tears rolled down her face. 

Unto her throbbing breast 
The Book, that told her of such grace, 

Most thankfully she pressed. 

How often have / heard the same 

Glad tidings that she heard. 
And pride was bowed not down in shame. 

Nor rising faith was stirred. 

How often have / listless, pored 

Upon the page of heaven. 
Nor wondered, melted and adored. 

For its wealth of promise given ! 



248 THOMAS S. GRIMKE. 

How often have / knelt in prayer 
Where worshippers have trod — 

My heart was there — the world was there^ 
And absent was my God. 

Henceforth my love shall constant, burn ; 

And profited I'll be, 
If faith and humble hope shall learn 

Of this poor Cherokee ! 



THOMAS S. GRIMK^. 

How many vegetate in idle life, 

A worthless herd ; Earth's listless cumberers ; 

Born only to consume her liberal fruits. 

How many live in pleasure, seeking- still 

To gratify poor self, nor caring aught 

For good or ill beyond. How many live 

Only to vex society with crime — 

A multitude, whose errand to our globe 

'Twere hard to scan, save that they're instruments 

Wherewith the Almighty doth in anger scourge. 

And yet they live to tedious old age. 

Useless, debased, the doers of foul sin, 

At once the land's excrescence and its plague. 

While others, who, to benefit their race, 



THOMAS S. GRIMKE. -249 

Spend weary years, give their best energies, 
And know existence only as a mean 
Of doing good ; studious and watchful still 
That this fair world for them may be the better — 
Who by sweet kindness, polish, learning, seem 
To realize the thought of what men are 
When purified and made as angels ; 
Even in the midst of days and usefulness. 
With all their honours green upon them. 
Circled by our fond hopes and loves and prayers, 
Are for our sins called hence. They die — 
And we are left to weep and wonder how 
Such worth and moral beauty could be spared. 
Of this fair company wast thou ! Of those 
That build their monument where Virtue builds, 
Art thou — and gathered to thy rest, we deem 
That thou wast lent us, just to show how blest 
And lovely is the life that lives for all. 

1834. 



250 THE PIOUS RUM SELLEr's SOLILOQUY. 



THE PIOUS RUM SELLER'S 
SOLILOQUY. 

'Tis so — He that made the good creature for use, 
Judges not on account of its ills or abuse. 
For this, and all gifts, I am thankful, 'tis seen, 
From its evils — if any — I wash my hands clean. 
Many years, thank the Lord ! I've been prospered, 

'tis true. 
His blessing has fallen, refreshing as dew, 
On my basket and store ; and an unction doth 

dwell 
With every good glass that I swallow or sell. 
Oh, how my full heart with due gratitude thrills. 
As I think of the quantities — made up of gills — 
The thousands of gallons of Brandy and Rum 
I've sold ; and the dollars that make up the sum ! 
I began with slight means, and the Hearer of prayer. 
Though I dealt by the small, shed his benizon there. 
I had crowds in the morning who called for their 

dram ; 
Distinguishing favour ! Unworthy I am ! 
Every bloated old drunkard who wanted a drop. 
All praise to my Maker ! would come to my shop ; 



THE PIOUS RUM SELLEr's SOLILOQUY. 251 

As I gave him the potion and took his last cent, 
How pure my thanksgivings to heaven that went ! 
Though his wife was in grief, yet for her I'd no 

fears, 
I trusted that Mercy would dry up her tears. 
Yea, sometimes, when counting my gains up at 

night, 
I have felt to ask God for his blessings, to light 
On her poor starving children ; and while at the 

throne 
For relief to her bosom, found joy in my own ! 

But, 0, times are altered. — I know to his saints 
God graciously hearkens, nor chides their com- 
plaints : 
I would lean on him, therefore, in confident trust. 
That he yet will uphold and will strengthen the 

just. 
'Tis true, to make money, my cares and my pains 
Are not very trifling, nor small are my gains ; 
Yet neighbours reprove me — to them I am dumb. 
Forgive as I ought, and invite all to come ; 
And live in meek hope that these matters may 

mend : — 
Here and there in our churches, good Rum has a 
friend ; [civil- 

Some too, that on Sundays will serve— and look 
God's cup, and six days give the cup of the devil. 



252 THE PIOUS RUM SELLEr's SOLILOQUY. 

Yet I mourn in my soul that I've fallen on times, 
When buying and selling- are counted as crimes ; 
When of dear reputation no man is secure, 
Though there's some solace left, if of cash he is 

sure. — 
Alas, for the profits of honest lang syne — 
The days when rum dealers sat under their vine 
Distilling- and selling-, vrhile none made afraid, 
Except scoundrels that died ere their dues they 

had paid. 
When holy men openly bought by the keg. 
Nor a tongue for the traffic against them could w2Lg ; 
When times of refreshing the Sabbath w^ould bring, 
In the shape of hot toddy, or tumbler of sling ; 
And v^^hen our good parson, not fearing ill tongues, 
Took a glass after sermon, to strengthen his lungs. 

They tell me of Dobbins, now dead in his grave, 
Who perished in shame, to my liquor a slave. 
True, he mortgaged to me, in his trouble, his farm ; 
'Twas spent at my counter — ^yet where was the 

harm 1 
A mite of the profits I gave to the poor ; 
For hoarding each penny I cannot endure. 

Then there was young Richard, the carpenter's 
son, 
Stout, happy and good, till his custom I won ; 



THE PIOUS RUM SELLEr's SOLILOQUY. 253 

Sure enough he would drink, and if he would buy, 
Some one must sell to him ; if so, why not I ] 
If I had not sold it, my neighbour Smith would ; 
His use of the money might not have been good. 
Yet sometimes it grieves me, I freely confess. 
To think of his family, steeped in distress ; 
I've almost regretted I fingered his cash. 
Drink made him, poor fellow ! so crazy and rash ; 
For M^hen the last glass I had urged, he went wild, 
And bathed his own hands in the blood of his child. 

Is the Lord indeed angry ] — will he His wrath 

urge'? 
He sendeth against us the Temperance scourge ! 
And lo, how its doings do trouble the saints ! 
The soul of the dealer is heavy and faints. 
If Abstinence thrives — hateful parent of ill — 
How soon may be strangled the Worm of the Still ! 
Come Famine! come Fever! with pestilent breath ; 
Come War! and lead men, by whole kingdoms, 

to death ; 
But spare us, of judgments, the last and the 

worst — 
Let not our dear land be with Temperance cursed. 
Confound, Lord, its schemes — for thy servant 

would dwell 
In Tophet, as soon as a Temperance Hotel. 



254 WHO CARES FOR JACK. 

Its agents, its tracts, and its abstinence ships — 
Could a word blast them all, it would rush to my 

lips. 
Its warnings to me of eternity ring, 
My conscience that's troubled, yet writhes with 

the sting. 
Destroy, Lord ! its refuge — its entering wedge 
To mischief, that's known as the Cold Water 

Pledge ; 
Oh, frown on their plans who forsake the old ways. 
And I'll drink to their ruin, and give Thee the 

praise ! 



WHO CARES FOR JACK? 

Who cares for Jack ] — Not one, not one ; 

Each has his selfish care, 
But for the friendless Sailor, none 

Kind word or thought can spare. 
Who cares that still alone is his 

The ocean's rugged way ; 
By night, unquiet rest, and toil 

And bitterness by day ? 



WHO CARES FOR JACK. 255 

Who cares for Jack 1 — He has no friend 

To sooth his weary wo : 
If tears are his, no heart is his 

On which those tears may flow. 
Who cares when pallid sickness bends 

On him its angry frown — 
Or when from the ship's plank he sinks 

A thousand fathoms down 1 

Who cares for Jack, — his voyage done 1 — 

The eager landlord cares : 
And to the utmost farthing strips 

The victim of his snares ; 
Yea, there are spoils along the deeps, 

And ocean has its shoals, — 
But the dry land has more than these, — 

The hopeless wreck of souls. 

Hallo ! hallo ! the flag is up, 

'Tis nailed unto the mast ; 
Thank God ! the Sailor's battered hulk 

Is near the Bethel cast. 
Hallo ! hallo ! a friendly port, — 

From cruel landsharks free ; 
Now comrade ! bear a hand and look, 

The Sailor's Home's for thee. 



256 JOB XXV. 

Here shalt thou meet with noble hearts, — 

A willing mess wilt share ; 
And none to mock thy true attempt 

To seek thy God in prayer. 
Who cares for Jack ! — And who will not ?- 

When seas have passed away, 
His soul with ransomed souls may shine, 

A gem as bright as they. 



JOB XXV. 

The moon that shines with peerless ray, 
The stars that gem yon vaulted way, 
Are brilliant to the mortal eye. 
But beamless to Infinity. 

The brightest form on whom hath shone 
The glories of the viewless throne ; 
Though burning with celestial hue. 
Is shaded in Jehovah's view. 

What then is man — a worm of earth — 
What then is man, of sinful birth — 
That dares usurp the Thunderer's rod, 
And justify himself with God ? 



SHIP OF THE DEAD. 257 



SHIP OF THE DEAD. 

The following fragment is from a legend of a 
former century. " The sun was just rising above 
the horizon, and a few thick clouds were gathered 
on the pinnacles of the surrounding hills. As the 
travellers ascended a pile of granite rocks called 
the Templesk anzel, they saw in the distance before 
them among volumes of white clouds, which rolled 
like the billows of a hazy ocean, a semblance of a 
ship with bare masts, and human figures scattered 
on the deck. Young Hermenwald saw his com- 
panion grow pale, and fix his eyes intently on the 
apparition, which gradually sunk and disappeared. 
They pursued their way toward the Worm Moun- 
tains, conversing on the Spectre of the Braken, 
which has been for so many years the wonder of 
rustic Hanoverians, and the speculation of curious 
travellers." 

What barque glides remote on the bosom of air ? 
'Mid the storm cloud she rides, yet no seaman is 

there. 
No banners are streaming, no canvass is spread, 
Her freight is untold — 'tis the Ship of the Dead ! 
R 



258 SHIP OF THE DEAD. 

All slowly she mounts on the foam of the wind, 
And the breezes of ether are scattered behind ; 
No wave curls around her, no seas wet her bow, 
Yet stately her motion and gallant her prow. 

Her bulwark is crimsoned with eddies of blood ; 
The corses are seen where the foemen have stood ; 
And those who have vanquished, or fallen in fight. 
Repose in dull sleep on the pillow of night. 

The harp of the formless hath wakened its wail ; 
The dirge of the wandering is heard on the gale ; 
'Tis the song of the viewless who night vigils keep. 
The requiem for those that repose in the deep. 

When the monarch of morning shines bright on 

the wave, 
When the wind gods rejoice o'er the mariner's 

grave. 
The shepherd of Hartz views afar with pale dread, 
On the billowless zephyr, the Ship of the Dead ! 



THE SOUL RELEASED FROM FEEBLE CLAY. 259 



THE SOUL RELEASED FROM FEEBLE 
CLAY. 

The soul, released from feeble clay, 
Drinks at the fount of living day ; 
She bathes in happiness above, 
Inflamed with holy, quenchless love. 
The pleasures that each sense refine. 
Spring from the source of joy divine;. 
Their zest, fruition ne'er can pall, 
'Tis lasting as the all in all. 

Come then. Oh pleasing, aw^ful hour. 
That frees me from each slavish povs^er. 
Thou Comforter ! calm every fear. 
Saviour ! w^ipe every trembling tear. 
Some sister angel hover nigh. 
Compose my couch, receive the sigh. 
And sweetly whispering. Soul! be free — 
Bear me away, my God ! to Thee. 



260 WE ARE TOO COLD FOR THOSE. 



WE ARE TOO COLD FOR THOSE 
WHOSE LOVE. 

We are too cold for those whose love 
Should centre, Lord, alone in Thee ; 

And like the generous flames above, 
There glow and shine eternally. 

We are too mute for those that soon 
Expect to sing in temples, where 

The light is one all glorious noon, 

The hymn is that which worlds will share. 

We are too trifling, whose brief walk 

Is to the tomb's forgetfulness ; 
Along whose chambers comes no talk 

Of the earth's giddy nothingness. 

We are too faithless for the men 

Whom God hath girded to the fight ; 

Whose victory's only certain, when 
The armour of belief is bright. 

We are too proud for those whose sin 
Brought the veiled God to weep below ; 



THE FINAL HOUR. 261 

And feel the malison within, 
Due only to his ingrate foe. 

We are too groveling, whose high aim 
Should look away from earth to heaven ; — 

O Christ! to our acknowledged shame 
Let thy redeeming robe be given. 



THE FINAL HOUR. 

Farewell to a world of pain. 
Sorrow, sighing, now adieu ! 

Scenes of toil, of labour vain, 
Scenes of pleasure all untrue. 

Farewell to a vale of wo. 

Chequered with the tear and smile ; 
Pains, that bade keen sorrows flow, 

Hopes, that dazzled to beguile. 

Earth ! receive me to thy arms. 
Grave ! unveil thy kindly breast ; 

Dissipate, ye fond alarms! 
Glad, the weary sinks to rest. 



262 TEMPERANCE SONG. 

Severed now are mortal ties, 
Ties so tender, once so dear ; 

Holier transports, kindling, rise, 
Soon the worm will banquet here. 

Saviour ! while all else recedes, 
Thy dear image still I see ; 

Yes, the same that intercedes 
For the sinner and for me. 



God ! my trust, I love thee more ; 
Thou my portion art alone. 
Help, help me to adore. 



MECHANICS' TEMPERANCE SONG. 

Who are the Brave if they were not — 

The mighty men of Bunker-hill ? 
Our sires ! — who'd shrink, if they did not. 

Their country's glory to fulfil 1 
Who are the free, if we are not — 

Their sons ! — O God ! of all thy earth 
Seest thou this day one blessed spot 

As free as that which gave us birth ? 



TEMPERANCE SONG. 263 

Who are the Brave if they were not — 

The men who woke the strife again 1 
And wiped away the drunkard's blot, 

And dashed to earth his cruel chain ! 
Who are the free, if we are not, 

Who will no longer garlands twine 
Around the cup, nor cast our lot 

With those that tarry at the wine ! 

Rejoice ! rejoice ! — and who will not, 

In all that Heaven has done for man ! 
If slaves of drink refuse, yet what 

Prevents the free, who truly can 1 
For what to us is hahWs power ] 

And what the sparkling tempter^ s bite ? 
Who's here, that triumphs not, this hour, 

In Temperance and in Freedom's might ? 

Who are the strength, iiwe are not, 

Of our fair country's noble name ? 
Without MECHANIC SKILL, what jot 

Or tittle lives, to tell her fame ? 
And who but we, her lively stones 

Shall fit, and bid the column rise, — 
Its base upon the warriors' bones — 

Its summit hidden in the skies ! 



264 THE TEMPERANCE STRIKE. 



THE TEMPERANCE STRIKE. 

His chains the tyrant Rum, too long- 
Has tried to cast around us, — 

Shall not Mechanics prove too strong-, 
When any would confound us 1 — 

We shall ! we shall ! we feel our strength. 
And who no sword will draw, 

When we for freedom strike at length ? 
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! 

Our fathers — who may see their like ! — 

When trodden down as cattle, 
For Liberty knew how to strike. 

And win the righteous battle ! 
And shall their sons be slaves to drink ? 

Oh never! never! Nor 
Will Working Men like cowards shrink. 

No boys ! — hurrah ! hurrah ! 

The pledge to Temperance we renew. 
For she is Freedom's daughter — 

In generous draughts of mountain dew. 
In cold and limpid water ! 



BABYLON. 365 

Strike hands with us ! — for wine like this 

The toper never saw ; 
And Woman's lip such cup may kiss 

Unstained, hurrah ! hurrah ! 

Some strike for wages, some for hours, 

Shall we refuse 1 — O never ! 
For time emd cash we pledg-e our powers, 

And strike for both, for ever ! 
Then strike who will for " 6 to 6." 

We flinch not in the war ; 
For Temperance and for Seventy-Six 

We strike I — hurrah ! hurrah ! 



BABYLON. 

And Babylon, the glory of kingdoms, the beauty of the Chal- 
dees' excellency, shall be overthrown ; the wild beast of the island 
shall cry in her desolate houses.— Isaiah. 

The mart is a desert, and lone is the hall. 

Where the minstrel lent airs to the song and the 
feast ; 

The fortress hath fallen, the fox treads the wall 
That girded thee, Babylon! Queen of the East. 



266 



How fair were thy g-races, thou mistress of art, 
Thy daughters how lovely ! in purple they shone, 

But the merchant that decked thee, hath seen thee 
depart, 
And the mother of nations now wanders alone. 

The trumpet of gladness no longer shall sound, 
The voice of the harper in slumber is sealed ; 

The beauty of Chaldee no more will be found, 
For the lamp of the Holy is now unrevealed. 

The treasures of Ophir, the gems of the deep. 
The myrrh and the incense no solace afford ; 

Thy virgins and nobles in solitude weep 

The march of the Syrian, the scath of the Lord. 

Rejoice, ye Apostles ! thou heaven behold ! 

Ye martyrs, give strains to the Highest again ; 
Jehovah his chosen in love shall enfold. 

And avenge the rich blood of the captive and 
slain. 



GENTLY AS FLOWS TIME's NOISELESS STREAM. 267 



GENTLY AS FLOWS TIME'S NOISELESS 
STREAM. 

Gently as flows Time's noiseless stream, 
In fancy steals the midnight dream ; 
Kindly the dear delusive power 
Enchants the soul at memory's hour; 
How sweet, the retrospect to view. 
And revel in bliss that day never knew ! 

Then thought returns to scenes of old. 
The deeds to silent years untold ; 
Past joys like shadowy forms appear. 
And g-riefs, long departed, renew the tear ; 
How sad, the retrospect to view. 
The smile, the tear, that infancy knew ! 

Then wrapt in vision's awful gloom, 
The soul, itidignant, bursts the tomb ; 
Behold her quit the track of time. 
Prophetic, she seeks another clime ! 
How dread, yon unknown worlds to view, 
With shades of the deathless the past to renew! 



\ 



268 THE TENT. 



THE TENT. 

WRITTEN AFTER WORSHIPPING IN THE TENT AT 
COLUMBUS, NEW JERSEY; 



The region around which, was the scene of David Brainerd's 
labours. 



Spread wings, Jehovah Jesus now, 

Where swells this sylvan dome for thee ; 
And graciously thy heavens bow 

In answer to such dust as we. — 
And as the Hebrew tribes of old 

In tents like this with thee did meet — 
Let thy descending glories fold 

Us, who would touch the Mercy Seat. 

Here, where our snowy canvass springs 

So light and graceful from the glade — 
May mind, above Earth's little things 

Go up, where mind has treasure laid ; — 
And while our tabernacle's hymn 

And prayer break forth, O let the tear 
Of penitence these eyelids dim, 

And sighs reveal that Thou art here. 



THE TENT. 269 

'Tis sacred ground — this green retreat, 

Where tears of solemn, strange delight 
Flowed once, when Thou didst kindly meet 

With him whose faith is changed to sight ; 
And holier unction from above 

Is here upon our warm hearts laid, 
And loftier, purer is the love 

That glows where Brainerd wept and prayed. 

O come ! for praise is lingering still, 

Where small birds lift their tiny voice. 
The murmuring bee, the babbling rill 

Seem conscious of Thee, and rejoice. 
And these sequestered scenes invite 

Thought from this world's bewildering hum. 
To search the skies, and in the light 

Of truth discern the world to come. 

These rounded hills, these sloping vales. 

These woods in Summer's gorgeous dress. 
This pleasant sun, these joyous gales 

All tell thy willingness to bless. — 
Then come ! and fill this waiting place, 

And let us thy salvation see ; 
And sweet and awful with thy grace 

These woods, and hills, and vales will be. 

August 30, 1835. 



270 GO, DREAM OF BY-PAST HOURS. 



GO! DREAM OF BY- PAST HOURS. 

Go ! dream of by-past hours : 

In retrospect, once more 
Pluck fancy's gayest flowers, 

And revel in thy store. 
Go, seek thy native cot, 

Scene of afl^ection free, 
Where pleasure cheered thy lot, 

Where love was all to thee. 

Do this, but never tell 

The heartless world thy dream ; 
Its scorn would hope dispel. 

Would crush the fairy theme : 
Do this, but in thy breast 

Let each fond wish expire ; 
For sorrows unreprest 

Are his who loves the lyre. 



UNION PREVAILS IN HEAVEN. 271 



UNION PREVAILS IN HEAVEN. 

Union prevails in Heaven, from Him 
Who all its spangled sheets unrolled, 

Down to the flaming cherubim 

That veils his face with wings of gold. 

Union is written on each star, 
That Avalks in music as it shines ; 

And the dim worlds that float afar, 
Reveal it, traced in living lines. 

In Union have our fathers placed 
The stone that God will not forbid, 

Polished and sure — whereon is based 
The Sunday-school's fair pyramid. 

In Union went the cloud of prayer. 
Their embassy to yonder skies ; 

Faltering, and yet accepted there. 
For God approved the sacrifice. 

O Thou ! that sendest blessings down, 
The hearing and the answering One ! 

Smile on their toil, and give the crown. 
And give the world to Christ thy Son. 



272 THE ROSE THAT DECKS. 



THE ROSE THAT DECKS THE 
LAUGHING DALE. 

The rose that decks the laughing dale, is fair to 
every view, [varied hue ; 

Its fragrant sweets embalm the gale, it blooms with 

Sweet is the rose — ^but in its bower, with proud, 
intruding mien. 

Companion of the beauteous flower, the rugged 
thorn is seen. 

The lily to the fancy dear, in spotless dress arrayed. 
Is gemm'd with morning's brilliant tear, and loves 

the humble shade — 
The lily of the vale is fair, the queen of Flora's bed. 
But cheerless and unsightly there, the bramble 

rears its head. 

There is a land, whose favoured soil sees vernal 

flowerets bloom, 
Where cloudless skies for ever smile, and cheering 

suns illume ; 
Immortal plants of Eden, fair, those heavenly fields 

adorn ; 
The lily has no bramble there, the rose has not a 

thorn. 



REED AND MATHESON. 273 



REV. DRS. REED AND MATHESON, 

DELEGATES FROM ENGLAND. 

Ye've sought our western shore 
In friendliness, on kind embassy bound ; 
The Christian fellowship ye hither bore. 
With us sojourning-, ye have freely found. 

New England's pleasant dales, 
And lands beyond the Alleghany, ye 
Have visited. Our noble prairies, vales 
And rivers seen, — fit region of the free ! 

Ye've trodden the rich soil 
Once wet with patriot blood; where the green 

graves 
Of the old warriors are ; men, not of spoil — 
Not slaves to death — who feared to live as slaves. 

Ye've seen on fields of fame 
The heaving dome, and Commerce urge his wheel 
Where Ruin dwelt ; and where the battle's flame 
Wrapt our fair towns, bright Peace her star reveal ! 



274 REED AND MATHESON. 

Ye've seen from Plymouth Rock 
High influence spread, wide as the nation spreads ; 
And still in person, family and flock, 
Quickening- the ray which the pure Gospel sheds. 

The arena of the last 
Great conflict ye have seen, and where shall dwell. 
In centuries of bliss, the church, when past 
Her warfare, and when bound the prince of hell. 

Return with songs ! — delights 
Of sacred home shall win once more your smiles, — 
We will rejoice that a new bond unites 
Our own loved country with the British Isles. 

And as again ye tread 
Your lovely Albion, and in thought review 
The hours that pleasantly among us fled, — 
Think, with us linger thoughts and prayers for you. 

1834. 



TO THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 275 



TO THE HOLY ALLIANCE— 1822. 

Say, ye that rule with iron sway 

The continental soil, 
To whom the nations are a prey, 

And liberty a spoil, — 

The generous spirit would ye bind, 

Its noble daring blight ] 
Say, would ye crush the ' march of mind,' 

And bring Egyptian night? 

Proud Autocrat ! Deliverer, thou ! 

How dim thy diadem. 
When that which once adorned thy brow, 

Is faded from the gem. 

Go, sway thy sceptre o'er a wild ; 

Satiate ambition's lust ; 
Let parasites salute thee " mild," 

We know thee deeply curst. 

And ye, degenerate, baser kings ! 

Unknown to godlike fame — 
Shall seas of patriot blood redeem, 

With ages, hence, your shame ? 



276 TO THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 

No ! rescued from oblivion's gulf, 

By bigotry and crime, 
Your deeds shall stain the flood of years. 

And blot the scroll of Time. 

Monarchs ! think ye leagued tyrants can, 

As erst in Italy, 
Successfully oppose, when Man 

Arises to be free 1 

When Freedom quits her mountain height. 

To seek the battle field. 
And bids her sons sustain the fight, 

With heaven and hope their shield — 

Think ye the bosom, beating then, 

Will shun the fatal blow 1 
Think ye one heart will shrink that day. 

Till tyranny is low ? 

Though Naples, to her leaden sleep. 

Returns, no longer free — 
Though Liberty has fled, to weep 

Her dire apostacy — 

Yet, Despots ! turn, and trembling, view 

Your potency how vain, — 
Behold a generous nation true. 

Behold regenerate Spain ! 



THE WORLD REFUSES ITS SMILE. 277 



THOU SAYEST THE WORLD REFUSES 
ITS SMILE. 

Thou sayest the world refuses its smile, 
Thou art soothed no more by pleasure, 

O believe, its mirth is guile. 
Vain is folly's boasted treasure. 

Thy early friend withdraws his love, 
Love in happier moments given ; 

Trust me, mortals false may prove, 
All is false, but God and heaven. 

In this wilderness of tears, 

Where the wanderer strays unheeding, 
Wouldst thou, torn with doubts and fears. 

Seek the path to safety leading ? 

While thou viewest a holy law. 
Written with the bolt of terrors ; 

Wouldst thou, trembling, weeping, draw 
Hope's oblivion, for thy errors ] 

Hasten to the mercy seat ; 

God's red thunder slumbers there ; 
Hasten to a Father's feet, 

God is nearest when in prayer ! 



1 



278 VERSES. 



VERSES, 

Occasioned by the rejection of the bill, introduced 
into the House of Delegates of Maryland, to 
alter the Constitution so as to place the Jews on 
an equal footing with the Christians, as it re- 
gards political rights. 

And do ye still reject the race. 

Thus long denied repose — 
And strive, in folly, to efface 

The rights that heaven bestows 1 

Say, flows not in each Jewish vein, 

Unfettered by control, 
A tide as pure, as free from stain. 

As warms the Christian's soul 1 

Do ye not yet the times discern. 
That these shall cease to roam, — 

That Shiloh, pledged for their return, 
Will bring his ransomed home 1 

Be error unto darkness hurled. 
Nor thus with hate pursue ; 
For He that died to save a world, 
Immanuel, was a Jew. 
1819. 



missionaries' departure for INDIA. 279 



THE MISSIONARIES' DEPARTURE FOR 
INDIA. 

They g-o — for sincere is the glad consecration 
That sends them far hence with the Gentiles to 
dwell ; 
And build up His kingdom, whose precious 
salvation 
Spoils death of its sting, of its victory hell. 
Beyond the wild storm and the dark heaving ocean 

They go to the beautiful land of the sun ; 
In whose groves and sweet valleys reigns passion's 
commotion ; — 
Whose plants must be gathered, whose dwellers 
be won. 

There, dead to the world, its allurements and glory, 

The toil of the teacher they'll meekly assume ; 
And patiently tell to the pagan the story 

Of the manger, the garden, the cross and the 
tomb. 
And far, far away from the home of their childhood, 

They'll watch and they'll wander, as duty shall 
call, 
On wastes and on waters, by jungle and wildwood, 

Unfriended, unshielded, yet strengthened in all. 



280 missionaries' departure for india. 

In Idolatry's temples they'll speak of His merits ; 

In Zayats shall mention be made of His love ; 
'Till in labours they sink, and their sin wearied 
spirits 
Leave earth for the holiness centred above. 
Do they falter ? Oh no ! for in Him all victorious 
O'er sickness, and sorrow, and death they 
will be ; 
In tears and in trembling they plant, but how 
glorious 
The harvest of souls that already they see ! 

They go — though to them, while as aliens for- 
saking 
Their country and kindred, the future is dim — 
They know when on beams of eternity waking, 
The'll find more than country and kindred in 
Him. 
They climb the tall vessel — and why doth emotion 
That swells in each heart, of regretings yet 

tein— 

Because they have not, for one life of devotion, 
Ten thousand for Him who has loved them so 
well. 

They leave us for time, and we them now com- 
mitting 
To Him who trod greatly the billows of old. 



MISSION SHIP. 281 

Entreat that us, severed — His will so permitting — 

In life, may be finally one in His fold. 
O Jesus ! who wept in the days of thy sorrow 
With those that were weepers, thou chidest not 
now; 
Though in tears to-day parting, there's hope for 
the morrow ; 
That hope, and that joy, and fruition art Thou ! 



THE CHARLES WHARTON, MISSION SHIP, 

WITH THE PRECEDING MISSIONARIES. 

That Ship ! that Ship ! why on her way 

Doth thought SO fondly linger still ] 
High o'er her bows the surges play. 
Her sails the urging breezes fill — 

She pushes nobly through the foam ; 

That Ship ! that Ship ! why cluster there 
Remembrances of love and home. 

And early joys and hours of prayer"? 

That Ship ! that Ship ! she hath with her 
Hearts strongly linked within our heart ; 



X 



•282 MISSION SHIP. 

Names that awake its kindly stir — 

God speed them ! — yet 'twas hard to part. 

She hath with her our cherished child — 
A brother, sister, treads her deck ; 

Part of ourselves are on the wild 

Wide waves, the field of many a wreck. 

Their gaze ! their gaze ! we see it yet — 
What years were in that earnest look ! 

The expression we may not forget, 
As eye from eye the farewell took. 

'Twas something of Earth's love, but much 
Of Heaven lit up each beaming face ; 

'Twas sweetly solemn — only such 
As speaks unwonted inward grace. 

That Ship ! she left us yesterday, — 

Our words were few, but tears were given ;- 

Last sobs, last looks, — she's on her way. 
And we have left them all with Heaven ! 

The sea reflects her silver track, 
Owr steps to silent home are bent ; 

We would not, dare not beckon back 
The messengers that God hath sent. 



TO NEW YORK. 283 

That Ship ! that Ship ! what teeming clouds 
Of blessings wrap her as she sails ! 

What suppliance follows as she crowds 
Her canvass to propitious gales ! 

That beautifully may be found 

Glad feet on many an idol hill ; 
'Till Sharon's roses cheer that ground, 

And streams of Life those valleys fill. 

November 17, 1835. 



TO NEW YORK, IN 1832. 

New York ! New York ! again in tears 

Of bitterness, thou weepest sore ; 
On thee, the angry cloud appears. 

And heavily the tempests lower. 
Within thy gates the voice of wo 

Is heard, there lingers fell despair ; 
The beauty of thy house is low, — 

The pale Destroyer walketh there. 

The aged father's heart is riven, 
His prop is hurried to the grave ; 



284 TO NEW YORK. 

The babe, sweet cherub, lately given, 
Hath fled, God claims the boon He gave. 

In Ramah, lamentation's sigh, 

The midnight burst of grief was known, 

In thee how oft the mother's cry. 

Hath told, her bosom treasure's flown ! 

While in thy street the trophied King 

Rides forth upon his phantom steed — 
And bids his lance new conquests bring, 

And bids again fresh victims bleed, — 
Be ours the sympathising part 

To pluck away the rankling spear ; 
Be ours, upon the broken heart. 

To drop Compassion's holy tear. 

O Thou ! who, on the storm careering, 

Deal'st the red thunder to thy foes, — 
O Thou ! who in the calm appearing, 

Speak'st to the trembler sweet repose, — 
We ask thy help, for help is thine ; 

Bid the Death- Angel now forbear ; 
Though 'neath thy footstool terrors shine, 

The mercy seat, O God ! is there. 



FROM ALL THAT CAN INTOXICATE. 285 



FROM ALL THAT CAN INTOXICATE 

From all that can Intoxicate ! 

The princely Pledge that saves 
From million crimes that ready wait, 

From grief and early graves ; — 
From ruin, and the certain grasp. 

That's pitiless, of law ; 
And from the sorer doom that's ripe. 

When Heaven its sword doth draw. 

From all that can Intoxicate ! — 

O thou of brilliant star, 
To whom all sweet and delicate 

Refinements, kindred are, — 
To splendours of thy intellect 

We homage give, yet these 
May gild the Inebriate's brimming bowl, 

Or flash upon its lees. 

And dream not, in thy pride of place, 
Such wretch thou ne'er canst be ; 

The thunder that's unseen has dropt 
On many, like to thee ! 



286 FROM ALL THAT CAN INTOXICATE. 

And think, if thou art lifted up, 

It may be only thence 
That thou shalt fall as others fell, 

Who braved Omnipotence. 

Give thou the Pledge ! — The rolls of fame 

From stain are not exempt ; 
And ills may touch thy g-oodliest, 

That presage never dreamt. 
'Tis safety for thy budding child — 

The germ thou hast not priced — 
For the warrior, the counsellor. 

The minister of Christ ! 

And art thou one, indeed, that stood 

With generous men on high, — 
One counted with the wise, till sold 

To this captivity ? 
By that sweet love some gave to thee, 

The love thou gav'st again — 
By Heaven, as yet not all renounced — 

By Hell, renounce the chain ! 

From all that can Intoxicate ! — 

This panacea will 
Suck out the poison from thy heart, 

Its fevered throbbings still, — 



FROM ALL THAT CAN INTOXICATE. 28^ 

And dry the hot and bitter tear, 

And melt away the frost 
That hung- about thy soul, when thou 

Didst deem thyself the lost. 

From all that can Intoxicate, 

Give pledg-e, and thou art kept 
From woes that on the drunkard wait, 

From seas that he has wept ; — 
From that which binds continually 

His mind as with a spell ; 
And bars out hope, and locks on him 

The triple door of Hell. 

And oh, to be e'en here, the butt 

At which the jibe is thrown ; 
To find the heart of welcome shut. 

Whose pulses were thine own ; — 
To be forsaken in the place 

Where once thou hadst respect ; 
To be by angel Woman scorned. 

Thy hopes of Woman wrecked, — 

To be, in gray hairs, forced to blush 

At presence of a son ; 
Or feeling- lost, to lift thy front, 

As if not thus undone : 



288 FROM ALL THAT CAN INTOXICATE. 

To meet an aged sire's reproach, 

A mother's silent look ; 
To read on pleasant things of home, 

Ban of the judgment book, — 

To be a living, loathsome corpse, 

A moving rottenness ; — 
To glut the hungry worm, before 

Thou dost the coffin press ; — 
To be a leprosy within 

The camp, and in the sight 
Of scoffers, show thy filthiness, 

Thy sin to open light, — 

To be cast out from decencies 

Of life, and only named 
In whispered stealth, as one by whom 

Humanity is shamed ; — 
To die — and by thy death to give 

Joy, where lament should be ; 
To lie in an unblessed tomb. 

Alone with infamy ; — 

If thou canst be and suffer this, 
Oh, less than Man ! give up 

The hopes of man, and take the bliss 
That's left thee in the cup : — 



FROM ALL THAT CAN INTOXICATE. 289 

Yet if thy sickening thought abhors 

Such unimagined pain, 
From all that can Intoxicate — 

From thy soul's death refrain ! 

From all that can Intoxicate ! — 

This charm shall potent be 
To lay the busy fiend that wastes 

Our land, beneath the Sea. 
Our land ! beloved and beautiful, — 

What boots it that her shrine 
The nations heap with offerings, 

If thus debased by Wine ? 

From all that can Intoxicate ! — 

Omnipotent its strength 
To overcome the tyrant foe. 

And bid us live at length. 
Oh, set its characters on high — 

And to the world be given, 
Blazed on the everlasting sky, 

The Pledge that's worthy Heaven ! 



290 death's changes. 



DEATH'S CHANGES. 

Death's changes are seen every where, — 

Know'st thou exempted spot, 
Hath mortal ever journeyed there, 

Where Death hath journeyed not? 
Baronial hall, or kingly tower — 

Or lowly peasant's cot ] 

Oh no ! 'tis not the dwelling place 

Where loving ones abide, — 
Amid its cheerful haunts I trace 

Death walking in his pride, — 
The old man's olive plant to kill, 

That grew up at his side. 

Nor is it in that busy town, — 

Each year inroads I find — 
And families of old renown 

Are scattered to the wind. 
Death breaks them up. — Of ancient friends. 

Oh, who are left behind ! 



death's changes. 291 

Nor is it in the market — thou 

Whose sands are at the last, 
Seest there, a crowd, as eager now, 

As crowds in time long past. 
And yet new voices reach thine ear. 

New looks are on thee cast. 

And name not thou the church to me. 

As place unknown to change, — 
The aspect of the flock, I see, 

Each Sabbath waxes strange. 
Continually, Death manifests 

He here hath ample range. 

Nor may'st thou point to yonder lands, — 

Their former masters sleep 
In their old orchards, — other hands 

The broad possessions keep. 
And these, in time, shall pass away, 

And others sow and reap. 

Death's changes are seen every where, — 

Look on the coronet ! 
And look on beggary, and there 

Thou seest his finger yet. 
And who that ponders, as he goes, 

Such changes may forget 1 



292 death's changes. 

May'st thou^ young- man, of healthful face ? 

Or think'st thou, he will spare 
To bow thy form of perfect g-race, 

Or damp thy shining hair] 
Thy frame is strong-ly knit, yet seeds 

Of change and death are there. 

May'st thou^ oh sweetly witching- girl ! 

Whose step is like the roe 1 
Or think, while in the giddy whirl, 

It will be always so "? 
A change will Death bring over thee, 

Fair flower ! and lay thee low. 

Sweet cherub babe ! from yon bright world, 

Lent, to sooth care in this — 
Within thy mother's fond arms curled, 

Who prints on thee the kiss — 
She knows not, pointed is the dart 

To thee, that cannot miss. 

Death's changes every where are felt, — 

The Sea's wide field of blue. 
The Earth, and Heaven's starry belt, 

Shall fade and perish too, — 
Be He, that hour, my changeless Stay, 

Who maketh all things new ! 



O, OFT HAVE I WEPT. 293 



O, OFT HAVE I WEPT, WHEN THE 
WILD WAKENED STRAIN. 

O, OFT have I wept, when the wild wakened strain, 

In sadness, has murmured of wo ; 
As its thrill, g^ently healing- my own bosom pain, 

Bade the tribute of sympathy flow. 

O, oft would the gloamings of rapture succeed, 

As the cadence of happiness stole ; 
When hope fondly smiled, and the wounds wont 
to bleed. 

Acknowledged its balmy control. 

But ne'er is the thrill which awakens the tear, 
Nor the cadence that vibrates delight. 

Though melting in rapture, to me half so dear, 
As thy notes, lonely bird of the night ! 

While saddened, I list to the deep plaintive song. 
Memory wakens, disdaining control ; 

The dim flood of ages rolls darkly along, 
It comes with its deeds on the soul. 

Then those whom I loved, by affection endeared. 
Who repose where the tall elders moan, 



294 THE TRACT LEFT AT MY HOUSE. 

In the still passing whispers of evening are heard, 
As they sigh o'er the days that have flown, — 

I gaze with emotion : I gaze, — but they've fled, 
See ! slowly their forms disappear ; 

Naught jemains but the ray on the cold heathy bed, 
And the trace of the last lonely tear. 



THE TRACT LEFT AT MY HOUSE. 

A MODEST female, lately, at my door, 

Solicited that I would take her boon. 

It was a Tract. I took and thanked, and soon 
Began to read ; what was it moved me so ] 
For Sin no Trifle I had read before. 
When o'er its page would tears, unbidden, flow. 

And still I read, and still it seemed to me 
Authority's own herald, and I felt 
Awed at its presence. Nor could I but think 

To entertain the guest thus proffered free. 
I read with tears for sin ; yet, joyful, knelt 

And blessed my God that Truth wells every where 
Waters of Life ; and freely may men drink. 

For this I did His gracious praise declare. 



THE firemen's HYMN. 295 



THE FIREMEN'S HYMN. 

At midnight's calm and careless hour, 

When silken dreams the slumberer claim, 
To startle from their pleasing power. 

And grapple with the bursting flame — 
To hear without, the rush of feet. 

And trumpets' deep appalling din ; 
To madly strive, and no retreat 

To find from burning death within : — 

A wife's imploring agony ! 

A cry from childhood's distant room ! 
O, gracious God ! for wings to fly 

And save them from the raging doom. 
Relief is near ! — the Fireman's grasp 

Is on them, and his ready arm 
Has borne the living from the clasp 

Of Death, and wife and babe from harm. 

The tear of gratitude, the joy 

Of giving joy to keen depair, 
— Earth's only cup without alloy — 

Are known andyeZf, not spoken there. 



296 ALCOHOLIC WINE AT THE LORd's SUPPER. 

And these are ours ! Thou, may we 
Look ever to the fountain, whence 

All mercy flows, and learn of Thee, 
Who art thyself. Benevolence. 



ALCOHOLIC WINE AT THE LORD'S 
SUPPER. 

Is it for such a rite as this 

Ye've kept till now the wine, 
That ne'er was crushed from generous grapes, 

That tastes not of the vine ? 
Is it that the disciples, who 

Are robed, with Christ to sup. 
From hand to hand, unconsciously, 

May pass a poisoned cup ? 

Is it for this we chased the foe 

From his last lodgment in 
Our homes and hearts, and scorned to touch. 

Or make, or sell the sin 1 
We chased him forth — but was the pest 

Thrust out, a thing abhorred, 
From households, to be handled here. 

In memory of our Lord ! 



ALCOHOLIC WINE AT THE LORD's SUPPER. 297 

'Tis so — I taste, and other thoughts 

Than Calvary, spring to birth ; 
I muse not of the Roman cross, 

Veiled sky and bursting earth, — 
Not of the glorious Sufferer, 

I think, but of the crime 
For ages wrought by Alcohol — 

What theme for such a time ! 



Of old the Jewish incense curled 

Where stood uncovered feet; 
And odours flung their sweet breath out 

Where flamed the Mercy Seat — 
Not such, that at our festival 

Steals round the temple wall ; 
We seek communion mid the fumes 

Of pungent Alcohol. 

A wanderer, returned, I see 

Beside me at the board ; 
I know that Alcohol, he once 

Above his God adored — 
Shall I not tremble as he lifts 

Such chalice to his lips 1 
Yea, agonize with terror, as 

He of the emblem sips 1 



398 RELIGION. 

I know that he is mortal still — 

I know temptation's there — 
O Saviour ! that thy blessed cup 

Should be to him a snare ! 
Shall I not wish that wine, henceforth 

Unmixed with drugs of hell, 
May at that banquet, of the blood 

Of my Redeemer tell ] 



RELIGION. 

Religion ! thou art all a noble theme 

For inspiration, thou thyself inspired. 

Wakener of bliss, beyond the poet's dream. 

Daughter of Love, in majesty attired, 

Thou walk'st the heavens, yet converse hold'st 

with men. 
Dweller in Light ! within whose ample ken 
Lies the broad realm of happiness, I greet 
Thee, Essence, not approachless. With glad feet 
Will I attend thee. Source of all my joy, — 
And quaff at thy right hand pleasures that ne'er 

will cloy. 



THE BAPTIZED. 291> 



THE BAPTIZED. 



Over that child, now sunk in shame, 
While listened heaven's admiring- host, 

In prayer was named the blessed Name 
Of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. 

Baptismal waters bathed his brow, 

In sign of covenant, who now 
Is counted as the lost. 

He grew in youth. The father's prayer 
Went up for him to Mercy's bower ; — 

For him, was seen, appealing, there, 
The mother's tear of holy power. 

As parents should, they agonized 

For promises to the Baptized, 
Performed in gracious hour. 

He grew in manhood. Yet no sign 
Saw they, of renovating grace ; 

No token of the life divine, 

In word or action, could they trace. 

The quiet pleasure of the heart, 

Whose choice is still the better part. 
Was not upon his face. 



300 THE BAPTIZED. 

Self-willed, he left the shielding dome, 
Threw off the yoke, that he might be 

From the restraints and tears of home, 
Its prayers and kind monitions free. 

And of his wanderings the spot 

None knew, few cared, whose chosen lot 
Was hopeless misery. 

He knows not, yet he cares — the sire, 
Whose hair, since then, has waxed gray ; 

She cares — whose frame, the keen desire 
To clasp the absent, wastes away. 

When storms are up, with thunders, wild, 

She fears for her unsheltered child. 
And goes apart to pray. 

Where is he, for whom agonized 

Those parents in his infancy? 
Where's he — the cherished, the Baptized — 

The prodigal. Oh, where is he ! 
Upon sin's billows rudely tost. 
For this world, to appearjince, lost, 

For Heaven, too, it may be. 

Yet, train thy child in wisdom's way, 
Saith Wisdom, and when he is old. 

From that fair path he shall not stray. 
Like one that is to folly sold. 



THE BAPTIZED. 301 

That word is truth ! — Old man, bereft 
Of thy first born, by sin, why left 
Thy child the Shepherd's fold 1 

Some lapse of thine is with thy grief 

Blended, some error in the link. 
That bound his love to thee, is chief 

Of wo that presses now ; yet think ! 
There's power for thy lost son with God — 
Despair not, No ! though he hath trod. 

Thus daringly, hell's brink. 

Over that child, now sunk in shame, 

While listened heaven's admiring host — 

Remember ! once was named the Name 
Of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. 

There's hope for him who wears such sign, 

Though vile — that he, through grace, divine, 
Forgiven, shall love most. 
1836. 



302 TO A MISSIONARY. 



TO A MISSIONARY. 

When Jesus led his faithful few 

To Bethany, where they, alone, 
Favoured of their loved Lord, should view 

His transit to his upper throne, — 
Why stood the cloudy chariot still, 

Upborne by servants of the sky ? 
Why halted they who do God's will, 

When the deep thunder bids to fly? 

'Twas for the promise given to those, 

His sojourners in sorrow here — 
To solace them his mercy chose ; 

To dry the pilgrim's starting tear. 
How tender were the words, whose oil 

Soothed each disciple's anxious heart, — 
Confirmed the strong, prepared for toil 

The faint, to act the martyr's part ! 

Go preach my word ! bid Gentile lands 
Shake off their night ; seek those astray ; 

Unloose the captive's slavish bands, 
Release from mental death its prey, — 



TO A MISSIONARY. 303 

Lo, I am with you to the end ! 

He spake, and on the whirlwind's wing, 
The Son of Man, the sinner's Friend, 

Of Earth restored, ascended King. 

Go, Missionary ! — meekly bear 

Thy cross, thy shame, — 'twill be thy crown ; 
Thy burden — light, beyond compare, 

To that which crushed the Godhead down. 
The mountains, desert, and the sea. 

That, painfully, thou wanderest o'er. 
Have dangers — vanquished, yet to thee. 

For these thy Master trod before. 

Thou goest to perils — yes, the tomb. 

Ere long, will claim its willing prey; 
Yet courage ! He who rent its gloom. 

Poured on that couch eternal day. 
Farewell ! although these eyes, no more. 

To thee the heart's warm kindlings wear. 
Yet, sinless, joined on yonder shore. 

Love, quenchless Love, shall quicken there. 



304 O, WHAT IS LIFE BUT SOME DARK DREAM. 



O, WHAT IS LIFE BUT SOME DARK 
DREAM. 

O, what is life but some dark dream, 

From which we wake to sigh, — 
A false uncertain meteor's gleam. 
That sheds a wandering cheerless beam. 
And brightens, but to die ? 

O, what are fleeting joys below. 
But cares bedecked with smiles, — 

The pageant of an empty show. 

That fain would hide a latent wo 
From him it thus beguiles ] 

And what's the secret pensive tear, 

But kindly dew of Even, — 
A drop, pellucid, glistening here, 
To sympathy, to virtue dear, — 

Quickly exhaled to heaven ! 



NEW YEAR THOUGHTS. 305 



NEW YEAR THOUGHTS. 

Years, many, I've not seen. Experience 

With me, is small, and brief my observation ; yet 

My aged friend, a good ripe patriarch, who 

Is in the winter of a green old age. 

And has known many changes, tells me thus : 

That time, so pregnant with important meaning. 

And big with matter of high moment, he 

Has never seen, as the twelve months which now 

Are ebbing out their last. Has not, said he, the 

flood 
Borne to the narrow house, illustrious names — 
Men, famed for arts and arms, who but just now 
Were here, and now are mingled with E ternity l 
Has it not wafted to our ear, the cry 
Of the stern rider who hath in his hand 
Arrows of death, and who in haste came on, 
And swept our dwellings 1 Have not warlike 

sounds 
Come o'er us — not from Britain or from Gaul — 
But from the bands of brethren in our midst ; 
Telling that fathers against sons have risen, 
And brothers to meet brothers buckle on 
The exterminating sword, to lay in dust 
u 



306 NEW YEAR THOUGHTS. 

The temple reared by the old warriors' toil, 
And unto Freedom consecrate with blood 1 
This, and much more to sadden thought — and yet 
My friend rejoices, and to see his joy 
I marvelled ; till he told me, that God reigneth, 
And will protect his own. The Church is safe ! 
Bears not that flood glad tidings of the men 
Who, counting the rich sweets of country, home, 

but naught 
Compared with duty, cast them freely off. 
And haste to spend themselves for Christ, abroad. 
And take the Missionary's weary lot. 
And lay their bones in missionary ground 1 
Hear we not, too, that God's returnless Word 
Is reaching nations, soon to bless the world 
With life and light, of which the shepherd's Star 
That rose on Bethlehem, was but the sign 1 
That He who built the earth, and channelled out 
The rivers, its highways, has brought to light 
Their courses, that his word may have free scope ; 
Yea, that to every continent, be sent 
Heralds of mercy, and the broad bright streams 
Whose banks see millions unredeemed, may soon 
Be visited with love 1 And hark ! what melody 
Already rises on the ear ] Oh ! different, far. 
From cries of wo, with which the slave too long 
Has vexed high Heaven, is that blessed song 
Of Africa, released, heard in her thousand tents 



NEW YEAR THOUGHTS. 307 

Of prayer, and gladdening all her blooming 

wastes. 
And look we to our own beloved West — 
The West, whose mighty rivers and broad lands, 
Whose sons of energy, proclaim that here 
Is the fit stage of high and daring deed. 
Of mighty plans, of mighty conflict too. 
And to the combat, armed, the Church hath come ; 
Her panoply is sure, her hosts are out. 
And she hath her munitions gathered up. 
Behold them in the sanctuaries, where 
Flow the glad streams of life. Behold them strown 
Thickly and broadly, in the Sunday-schools 
That gem the prairies, and whose cheerful song 
Doth stir the forest. See them in the halls 
Of holy Science, where the ready youth 
Are furnished to their work, and issue forth 
To tell of Jesus. Yea, the edifice of prayer. 
The Sunday-school, the seminary, tell 
That soldiers of the Cross are rallying round 
Her standard, and the battle is begun. 
Which ceases not, till Earth's proud kingdoms 

have 
Become the kingdoms of the risen Christ. 
The Church is safe ! Devils are unchained yet — 
The stormy world still heaves ; men's lusts yetrage; 
Till sin is vanquished, it must still be so. 
Ye billows threaten still, toss ye proud waves. 



308 Washington's freedmen. 

Roll on, impetuous tide ! thou canst not harm 
The Church, that, like a tower, lifts up on high 
Her everlasting walls. Built on the Rock, 
She looketh down, and sees the troubled surge 
Dash idly at her feet. 

Cincinnati, December, 1832. 



WASHINGTON'S FREEDMEN. 

A gentleman, lately visiting Mount Vernon, 
writes to his friend that he was much gratified to 
find a great improvement about the tomb of 
Washington. The former appearance of neglect 
and decay had been succeeded by a general repair. 
Seeing about a dozen coloured men at work, level- 
ing and turfing the ground at the sepulchre, he was 
induced, by the deep interest with which they 
laboured, to inquire whether they were slaves of 
the family 1 " No," they said, " we are General 
Washington's servants ; survivors of those whom 
he set free at his death ; and we have come as 
volunteers to improve the grounds near his tomb, 
as a testimony of our gratitude." 

We blush to add, that the National Monument 
Society at Washington, which proposes to build 
the monument of the Father of his Country by 



Washington's freedmen. 309 

subscriptions of one dollar from American citizens, 
confines the privilege to white citizens ; and that 
these freedmen who have received from Washing- 
ton more than we all, and whose grateful remem- 
brance is thus touchingly exhibited, may not aid 
in the work. — N. Y. Evangelist. 

We garnish the grave of the Chief — 

Good men will not deem it the worse 
That such testimonial of grief. 

Is gratefully rendered by us : 
For who may restore this sad wreck, 

But the cleansed from humanity's stain? 
What hands should his sepulchre deck. 

But those that he freed from the chain ] 

Toil, brothers ! — the ringdove hath nest 

In the quiet and cool of this shade ; 
To tarry, she knows herself blest. 

Where excellence lowly is laid. 
The small birds have liberty here, 

On this mountain to build as they list ; 
And ranges the beautiful deer 

Where its base by Potomac is kissed. 

Prune, brothers ! these cedars, that bend 
In negligence over his tomb ; 



310 Washington's freedmen. 

Teach, brothers ! these lilacs to lend 
New beauties and richer perfume. 

Let us trim the luxuriant grass, 

Which carpets the place of his dust ; 

That pilgrims may pleasantly pass 
To the coveted shrine of the First. 

These bowers, what thousands have sought ! 

These windings, what thousands shall throng! 
Down the future, what bards will have caught 

Here afflatus for glorious song ! 
Yet this, the exalted of graves, 

Above other sepulchres crowned, 
Is seen in the precincts of slaves — 

In the strong hold of bondage is found ! 

The rich for his pile will bestow. 

Whose glory makes diadems dim ; 
Yet we may not do it, although 

Our love flows as warmly for him. 
Will he look down from heaven, to smile 

On marble that's heaped o'er his grave, 
By men that would honour him, while 

They make of their fellow a slave 1 

The stones of the quarry would cry 
To the rock upon which it was built ; 



Washington's freedmen. 311 

And The Just, who has noticed the sigh 
Of the captive, would visit their guilt. 

A monument reared up by such. 
His frowning memorial would be 

Of righteous displeasure, who much 
Desireth the bond to be free. 

'Twould stand, to the nations a mark 

Of scorning and hissing of those 
Who prate about Liberty's spark. 

And yet to its kindlings are foes. 
A terrible record of Truth — 

'Twould point, as with finger of flame ; 
And its characters blazing his worth. 

Would light down to ages their shame ! 

But no ! they may chisel the stones, 

And for its foundations dig deep. 
That Centuries might pause where the bones 

Of the world's only patriot sleep ; 
They may do it — but never shall rise 

Such fruit of hypocrisy's toil ; 
His monument greets not the skies, 

'Till slavery is swept from our soil ! 

The millions for Cecrops that toiled, 
And sank on the marshes of Nile, 

In their folly, stupendous, were foiled, 
Though carved they Eternity's pile. 



312 SUNDAY-SCHOOLS IN THE WEST. 

The millions that rear up, this hour, 
Our citadel, build not in vain : — 

'Tis rising ! and proudly will tower, 
When pyramids litter the plain. 

Toil, brothers ! to garnish the spot 

Of Freedom's, of Washington's sleep ; 
Where Virtue may ponder, but not 

Where Crime may in mockery weep. 
The labour we freely bestow, 

— To buy it, too poor were a throne — 
To him that has left us, we know 

Is sweet, for 'tis Gratitude own. 



SUNDAY-SCHOOLS IN THE WEST. 

He came to drink his bitter cup. 
And men accorded not acclaim ; 

Yet from young lips a shout went up. 
That put the frowning priest to shame. 

Beyond the skill to Levite known 

When trump to answering cymbal calls, 

Was that rich swell of touching tone 
Which met the God within his halls. 



SUNDAY-SCHOOLS IN THE WEST. 313 

Since then, in deep forg-etfulness, 

The harp of Infancy had lain, 
Till Sunday-schools were sent to bless, 

And bid its lispings live again. 

To this dark world 'twas gladdening hour 
When voices that had slumbered long. 

In all the charms of Childhood's power 
Woke up to holiness and song. 

Right well 'twas then, to mark the boy 
Still tending skyward, led by love. 

And warbling, as he journeyed, " Thou ! 
My Father — art my guide above." 

And cheeks, where rioted the curl. 
To see suffused with tears for sin ; 

And holy smiles, by which that girl 
Revealed the quiet peace within ! 

Of gifts from man, was his the best 
In yonder isle, whose patient prayer 

Brought dews upon that vine to rest. 

And England's thousands sheltered there. 

And glowing to Columbia's weal 
Was he that bare across the wave 

The tree, whose leaves refresh and heal. 
Whose branches bourgeon on the grave. 



314 SUNDAY-SCHOOLS IN THE WEST. 

Shall not to him — the noble one — 

Be ever truest tribute paid, 
Who gave its blossoms to our sun, 

To cheer us with its balm and shade 1 — 

And led our little ones among 
Its bowers, safe from wanderings, 

As watchful shepherds win their young 
To verdant vales and silvery springs 1 

Yes, and to those whose beaming eyes 
Have lately looked upon the West, 

And said, beneath its pleasant skies 

This plant shall shield the grief oppressed- 

And tower above the lordly pine. 
And fling its fragrance round the land, 

From Alleghany's wilds, to where 
Pacific's billows kiss the strand, — 

Be thanks : — yet rather righteous Lord ! 

From thee it comes, to thee they're given ; 
And Thou wilt send the searching word 

That saves, restores, and lifts to Heaven. 

Valley of the Mississippi, August, 1830. 



BOOKS IN HEAVEN. 315 

BOOKS IN HEAVEN. 

Chained to his throne a volume lies.— Dr. Watts. 

In Heaven the happy may for ever gaze 
On the unsealed page of Providence, 
Whose glowing characters shall well reward 
Attentive search. What things to flesh were shut 
Shall be to spirit opened. They shall learn 
The scope of what was mystery before, 
And learning, shall wake newer songs to Him, 
The Adorable. Nor shall they need the aid 
Of earthly lore, nor thirst for knowledge, drank 
W^hen tabernacled here. 

Yet if to them 
Some relic might remain of what once pleased ; 
If there were Books in Heaven, whereon the eyes 
Of Holy ones might rest, at times, when harp 
And hymn were silent — If from those retired, 
Awhile, who worship ever near the throne. 
Some spiritual beings might retrace the page 
In glory, which they loved on earth below — 
Doubtless the record that would fix their gaze 
Would be concerning Him, the Crucified. — 



316 SUICIDE OF A STATESMAN. 

And they would read with ever new delight, 

While their glad glance oft rested on Him — read 

With love, intense, of all his painful toils, 

His days of weariness and nights of pain, 

Who trod Jerusalem, so long ago. 

In bitter pilgrimage for sin. The Book 

Of Heaven would be the Bible. 

If from wreck 
Of mighty treasures of the melted earth, 
Gathered for ages, gathered for the fires 
Of the last day — one other book were spared, 
To please the intellect and feast the mind. 
Immortal, happy, yet still eager mind, — 
A book to be at times companion sought 
In heaven — I think it would be Paradise Lost. 



SUICIDE OF A STATESMAN. 

O, what is that the world calls fame 1 
And what the phantom Glory 1 

Why pants the votary for a name 
To live renowned in story 1 

Mistaken he that climbs the steep, 
The precipice unheeding, 



SUICIDE OF A STATESMAN. 317 

He g-ains the height — it is to weep ; 
He smiles — his heart is bleeding. 

But late the strain of pleasure rose, 

His mansion echoed gladness ; 
His heart seemed pillowed on repose, — 



Yea, false Ambition ! 'twas thy slave, 

On thy accursed altar, 
Dared the Omnipotent to brave. 

With deed that bids us falter. 

Go, son of poverty! rejoice 

— Thy bosom whelmed with sorrow, — 
Though care be thine this day, the voice 

Of hope shall cheer the morrow. 

Though tossed thy barque, though in distress 

Thou rid'st the angry billow. 
Rejoice ! rejoice ! thou dost not press 

The Suicide''s cold pillow. 

1822. 



318 VERSES. 



VERSES, 

Occasioned by the imprisonment of a Clergyman, 
at the suit of a Rum-distilling Deacon, for writing 
against Intemperance ; a fact of the Nineteenth 
Century. 

They've thrust him in the inner cell. 

And planted bolt and bar 
On him thus basely made to dwell 

Where thieves and drunkards are. 
And those that quailed beneath his eye. 

And at his word did cower. 
Have left the greatness there to lie. 

Which shamed their petty power. 

The jail receives him, whose behest 

It is, with tongue of flame. 
To urge repentance, and attest 

The charms of Jesus' name. 
The jail receives him, who should teach. 

In voice of winning love. 
The sunken how to rise and reach 

The paradise above. 



319 



The meek disciple who at times 

Takes of the Saviour's cup — 
And then the chalice, drugged with crimes, 

Compels men to drink up, — 
Yea, he whose hateful, poisonous trade, 

Has by the help of hell, 
A thousand thousand paupers made. 

In cedar halls doth dwell ! 

Ay, bring him thence ! — the Christian, now,- 

Of all that's manly shorn, — 
That deeply on his guilty brow, 

The world may write its scorn, — 
And mark with infamy, the soul 

That's monument alone 
Of meanness, lasting as the scroll 

Of brass, or senseless stone. 

If e'er was one whose deeds on earth 

Are food for fiendish wit, — 
Whose deeper baseness stirs the mirth 

And loathing of the pit, — 
The Judas that makes haste to fill 

His bag by misery, 
And fasts, and prays, and drives the Still, — 

That hypocrite is he ! 
1835. 



320 SARATOGA. 



SARATOGA. 

Here the foemen, in conflict, once met, 

Here Freemen their weapons did draw ; 
On the plains which their life crimson wet, 
The heroes have rushed to the war. 
Saw ye not the proud banneret, gory ] 
The flag- of the patriot free — 
The meteor exhaling to glory ? 
It shone, Saratoga ! on thee. 

'Twas the hour when dimly the star 
Of America, glimmered on night, 
When the death drum, and bugle, afar, 
Called the chieftain away to the fight. 
The links of curst thraldom to sever, 
The Champions of Freedom arose — 
'Till oppression was scattered, should never 
The sword in its scabbard repose. 

With devotion the traveller here, 
O'er the relics of valour doth tread ; 

He gives to their prowess the tear, 
It moistens the place of the dead. 



ACTS HI. 321 

Revered be the incense — 'tis holy ! 
Ever green be the Warrior's grave ; 
Columbia! cherish the glory, 
That haloes the deeds of the Brave. 
1820. 



ACTS III. 

He lay beside the temple's gate, 

Beside the Beautiful he lay. 
The lame man, for an alms to wait 

From those who passed that way. 

Gold to his need was given, yet vain 
Was it he looked for healing aid ; 

And still the morning saw again 
Him at that portal laid. 

Till the Apostles thither came ; — 

And wherefore came these bold ones there? 
To seek in the Redeemer's name, 

The fellowship of prayer. 

' Rise up and walk,' they said ; and healed, 
The lame man leaped and walked abroad ; 



322 MY GRAVE. 

For in that mandate was revealed 
Power from the Son of God. 

Thus have I lain, and at the door, 
Thus asked vain alms of all beside : 

Repenting, I'll His aid implore, 
Who for my sin hath died. 

And oh, upon my waiting ear, 

What mellow music seems to roll ; 

My spirit, whither flies thy fear. 
When Jesus says, ' Be whole I' 



MY GRAVE. 

On ihy dear lap tht-** limbs recliiKd, 
Shall gently moulder u;to thee. 

The Grave, Inj Montgomery. 

When I am dead, O bear me not 

To rest within the hollow tomb ; 
But rather to some peaceful spot, 

Where earliest flowers of Summer bloom : 
And not in yonder crowded cell, 

My flesh with broken coflins lay, — 
Where shadows of oblivion dwell, 

And sullen silence wraps the clay. 



MY GRAVE. 323 

I would not that my wasted dust, 

Years hence, unfeeling eyes should scan ; 
To mark the ravages that must 

Bring down the form and pride of man. 
Nor would I that some busy friend. 

With curious eye, should in me trace 
The meanings that Decay doth lend 

So fearful, to the altered face. 

I know that to the wearied bones 

It matters nothing where they lie ; 
Whether beneath the vaulted stones, 

Or grass that bends to Evening's sigh ; 
Or whether round them drips the wall, 

In greenness and sepulchral damp, — 
The thoughts of these are idle all, 

When blotted out is Being's lamp. 

When blotted out are we from earth, — 

The chasm made, so soon filled up ; 
When others sit around our hearth, 

And drink of our relinquished cup ; 
When cold and senseless sleep we on, 

Though nations totter to their fall ; 
And calmly rest while worlds are won, 

Unheeding strife, — forgot by all. 



324 MY GRAVE. 

It matters nothing-, — yet it seems 

Unpleasant fellowship, to be 
Shut up with thing's, that in their dreams 

Of terror, men may only see : 
The livid company that sleep 

Within that chamber of the dead ! 
The solemn tenantry that keep 

Their mansion, to corruption wed ! 

Away ! — away ! I would not shun 

The welcome summons to the grave ; 
If faith be kept and warfare done, 

Not sweeter freedom to the slave, 
Than death to me, — yet I would fain 

Lie down in some secluded dell ; 
There, till by trumpet called again, 

On mother Earth to slumber well. 



THE END. 



^§4 .-Kly 



